


Drag You Down to Paradise

by rocketgirl2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013, M/M, Men of Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketgirl2/pseuds/rocketgirl2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunters know that the Men of Letters don't exist—so when a man named Castiel shows up on one of the Winchester's hunts and introduces himself as one, they're suitably suspicious.  He comes with news of a prophecy that tells of a demon uprising and names Sam and Dean as the only ones who can prevent it.  Despite their misgivings, the Winchesters agree to help and find themselves entangled in a world of magic and tradition like nothing they've ever encountered.  As they learn more about the Men of Letters and their mysterious prophecy, Sam, Dean, and Castiel face choices that could change the course of history, and whose fallout could bring them closer together...or tear them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to the wonderful [ionchannel](http://ionchannel.livejournal.com) for her beta work—she helped me whip this fic into shape and it would not be half as good without her help. Any further mistakes are my own. The talented [ash_kah](http://ash_kah.livejournal.com) made some absolutely squee-worthy [artwork](http://ash-kah.livejournal.com/7725.html) to go with this piece. Thanks to the DCBB mods for putting this whole project together. ([View on LJ](http://indefinably.livejournal.com/2865.html))

When Dean emerges from the bathroom he sees Sam perched on the rickety chair at the motel table, laptop and a spread of newspapers in front of him.  
  
"Find anything?" he asks.  
  
"A rash of attacks at a school—East Tennessee," says Sam. "It looks like four members of their Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity have been mauled to death in the past three weeks. Problem is, the wounds aren't all consistent with the cougar that witnesses have reported."  
  
"And?" Dean slings his towel over the back of his chair.  
  
"The newspapers don't have much more than that." Sam turns back to the screen. "Looks like they're reporting 'strange testimonies' from some witnesses, though."  
  
"Then let's grab some food and get on the road."  
  
"Yeah," says Sam, shutting his laptop. "Let's see if we can get there before more people die."  
  
They drive for sixteen hours, switching off behind the wheel, until Sam demands they stop for the night. Dean pulls off into the town of Farragut, Tennessee, and manages to find a not-so-rundown motel. Sam falls asleep right away, but Dean keeps jolting awake to the feel of a burning blade against his throat only to discover that he was dreaming. He double-checks that his knife is under his pillow and then lays back and watches the ceiling fan make circles on the ceiling until it lulls him to sleep and he repeats the whole process.  
  
The next morning Dean downs two cups of coffee before he's functional, and he's still bleary as Sam runs over everything they know over breakfast. They've already compared them to Dad's journal and tried to Google them and nothing has come up, but Sam is big on being thorough. Dean rolls his eyes at the recap.  
  
"No one's going to want to talk to you once you get there if you keep being such an ass," observes Sam, probably under the misconception that he's being helpful.  
  
"Fuck you," says Dean.  
  
Sam makes a face but doesn't say anything else while Dean downs a third cup of coffee before pulling out a wad of cash to pay for their food. "Let's go," he says, before Sam decides it's a good time to apologize or something. They make the rest of the drive in silence.  
  
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
Johnson City is a nice enough place, except for the cougar-like beast that's been cutting through its college population. Sam sets out for the library almost as soon as they've checked into the motel, leaving Dean to go inspect the bodies.  
  
"Animal Control," says Dean to the policewoman.  
  
She nods a welcome. "What can I do for you, Officer..."  
  
"Spitz."  
  
"I assume you're here about the recent attacks?"  
  
Dean nods. "What do you have so far?"  
  
Officer Mendez offers to make him copies of all the case files and Dean decides that he likes her. "While you're doing that, perhaps I could look at the deceased?"  
  
"I'll have Damien help you out there. Let me give him a call."  
  
"'ppreciate it," says Dean. He leans against Officer Mendez' desk, drumming his fingers mindlessly while he glances over the newspaper clippings pinned up on the corkboard adjacent him. Up in the corner, separated from the stories about the monster by its yellowed edges, is a profile of a young man holding a baseball bar and grinning widely.  
  
"Your son?" Dean asks Officer Mendez when she reappears with the files and word that Damien is on his way up.  
  
She shakes her head. "That's Philip. I found him trying to steal from a grocery store in town to feed his little sister when his father got sick. His family didn't have much, so I did my best to help him when the store decided not to press charges." She smiles at the memory. "He graduated last winter. I keep his picture up to remind me why I'm here."  
  
Dean nods again and is spared from making a response by Damien's entrance. He's a wiry man, too excitable for someone whose job is to be around dead people.  
  
"You must be Spitz," he says holding out his hand. "I'm Damien. Good to meet you." He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they head to the morgue and Dean wonders if he talks this much to anyone who will listen. "This case has gotten us a lot of national attention," says Damien. "We don't normally have outsiders coming through, but there's you and a guy who claims he's a PI, though he was a bit shady."  
  
"Yeah?" says Dean, shocked into responding.  
  
"Yeah. Wouldn't say who hired him, but I suppose they're not supposed to. He had some weird methods, whoever h was. But I guess it's not my business what he does."  
  
"Thanks for the heads-up," says Dean. If there's another hunter here they might be able to move on from the case, but he's not sure who else would be in the area. He'll have to call Bobby later.  
  
Damien pulls out the bodies and leaves Dean to look at them while he goes to pull his notes. The silence is somewhat unsettling, the barely-audible buzz of the fluorescent lights making Dean tense his shoulders involuntarily. He suddenly understands why Damien talks so much.  
  
The wounds look like normal fare for a cougar attack until Dean sees the scratches that look like they came from fingernails instead of claws.  
  
"Odd, isn't it?" asks Damien, when he sees what Dean's examining. "At first I thought it was just a marking from another fight, but all four bodies have had the same sorts of wounds."  
  
Dean pulls out his phone and snaps a couple pictures, then quickly scans through Damien's notes to see if there's anything else remarkable about the bodies. "The only other pattern I found is that all of the vics had relatively high blood alcohol levels when attacked," says Damien. "But that may have more to do with the fact that they were frat boys, attacked late at night."  
  
"They're all in the same fraternity, right?"  
  
Damien nods. "I don't know much about Greek life in this town, but that's where Ana—officer Mendez—has been looking. I doubt a frat could keep a puma, though, even for hazing purposes."  
  
Dean nods again. "Looks like I have all I need for now." He shakes Damien's hand. "Thanks."  
  
"I hope you find it, whatever it is," says Damien, trailing him to the door. "I'll be glad when these attacks stop."  
  
"So will we all," Dean says, letting the door swing shut behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time and nods a brief thank you at Officer Mendez. Time to take what he has to Sam, and see what they can figure out.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
"So, it's probably an Ewah, then," says Sam between bites of his salad. "That's the only thing that seems to fit both of our data."  
  
Dean tries to look interested in what Sam's saying, but his burger is frankly much more appealing.  
  
"The Ewah is a creature from Cherokee legend," says Sam. "But there are a few different myths. It's hard to figure out which is correct."  
  
"Sam, all we need to know is how to kill it." Sam looks slightly disappointed that Dean is dismissing his research skills. " _Fine_ ," says Dean. "Tell me what you found out," and Sam launches into a goddamn lecture about the origins of the Ewah and the culture that brought it about and spews enough information to fill an essay, which is probably what Sam has been planning in his head this whole time. Dean sits and listens somewhat patiently, half of his mind on the weird marks on the victims.  
  
"Did you find out anything about the frat?"  
  
"Nothing much. Seems like a few months back one of the sororities brought charges against some of its members for sexual harassment, but the case never went to court. Only two of the victims were on the list of the accused. Still, we should check it out."  
  
Dean grins. "Awesome. Think there's a party tonight?"  
  
Sam puts on his best I-am-disappointed-in-your-moral-and-social-development face. "No."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "Man, you wasted your years in college, didn't you?"  
  
"I used them to study, Dean. So I could learn."  
  
Dean gives a long-suffering sigh at the uncoolness of his little brother, and finishes his beer. "C'mon. Let's go back to the motel and make a plan."  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
The interview with the sorority girls doesn't give them much, but the nervous glances that go around the group tell Dean they're holding back. Sam gives them his number in case they think of anything else.  
  
"Nice going, Sammy," says Dean.  
  
Sam gives him a look of disgust. "I gave it to them in case they wanted to talk, Dean," says Sam. "Don't you ever think of anything other than sex?"  
  
Dean shrugs and chooses not to answer.  
  
They head over to talk to the eyewitnesses next, whose stories are markedly different from the version the newspapers had presented. "It looked like a chick at first, I swear," says Donovan, one of the ones lucky to get away when it attacked his group of three. "Then it was a cougar. I wasn't that drunk at the time...we saw it coming at us and tried to run and when we looked back it was gone. The next morning we heard about Ashton..."  
  
Sam makes encouragingly sympathetic noises and Dean makes notes, and by the time they get out they're sure Sam's guess was correct.  
  
The only thing left to do is to visit the scene itself. The attacks were spread across the more secluded parts of campus, but nothing else seems to link the locations. "Let's track this sucker," says Dean, grabbing as big a variety of weaponry as he can stash in broad daylight on a college campus. They don't find much near any of the attack locales—any evidence has been obscured by now—but beyond the college stretches a line of trees that might provide a good hiding place were you half-person, half-cougar.  
  
They move the Impala to somewhere a little less noticeable and push their way through the branches, looking for any sign of supernatural creature life. However, they find no tracks, no trails of blood, and no creepy looking lairs.  
  
"Dude," says Dean, when Sam suggests looking for Ewah scat. "Let's just come back tonight."  
  
"You want to do a stakeout for an Ewah?" asks Sam skeptically, but in the end it's the best option they've got.  
  
They return that night and park so they have a good view of the tree line. The slight crescent moon means it's dark enough for the Impala to melt into the shadows. Once they're concealed Dean remembers that stakeouts are boring as shit; he's wondering why he suggested one when Sam jabs him in the arm and points toward the road.  
  
"Ow," hisses Dean.  
  
"Dean, _look_." There's a group of four college students, all male, all fairly drunk, making their way down the road.  
  
Without a word, Sam and Dean climb out of the car and shut the doors quietly behind them. They walk toward the rowdy group, doing their best to stay unnoticed. It's no challenge; the group is much more interested in one-upping each other with their stories of drunken conquests. They don't see the beast as it pokes its head out of the trees beside them.  
  
Dean and Sam break into a jog. The face disappears back into the trees and then pokes out half a second later, looking more human than last time.  
  
"Look out," yells Sam to the group, as they come even to the where the face has disappeared again. The next time it reveals itself, it's a few feet ahead of them, a fearsome blend of human and cat.  
  
"The FUCK," one of them yells.  
  
"Dude, mother—shit, what the—," says another, pushing his friends across the street. They stumble into a run, looking back at first to see if they're being followed. Sam and Dean pelt across the street and into the woods behind the Ewah, Dean barely missing a light blue luxury car that's parked in a small clearing hidden from the road by the stand of trees.  
  
"Ewah can't drive, right?" Dean asks. He assumes they can't and whatever, there's probably another explanation for the car. Right now he needs to focus on tracking the damn thing. Following woodland creatures during the day is bad enough and it's even harder in the dark, but they can't lose this thing. They track the Ewah to higher ground, where the dirt turns dry and hard. Sam kneels down and shines his flashlight across the packed earth to illuminate the path that remains.  
  
"This way," he says, catching the hint of a track. There's so much undergrowth that it's difficult to move quietly but Dean does his best. They scramble their way up a small gully, Sam in the lead, Dean, following close behind.  
  
"Shh,"'says Sam suddenly, throwing out his arm to stop Dean.  
  
"What?" Dean hisses.  
  
Sam gives him a look that says _shut UP I hear something_ so Dean bites down on his next words. Then he hears it too: a low chant, almost Latin, but more guttural in its pronunciations.  
  
Dean pulls out his gun. Sounds like this just got a lot more complicated.  
  
With a look to make sure they're on the same page, Dean and Sam emerge from the gully to see the Ewah sitting tamely on her haunches, facing a man in a tan trench coat that almost reaches the ground.  
  
"Stop!" commands Sam as Dean levels his gun at the Ewah. In the next second it's sprung off into the woods, leaving them with a confused and angry man who might be some kind of turbo witch.  
  
"What are you doing," he grinds out. "This is not a place for you to get involved."  
  
"Looks like it is," says Dean, swinging his gun around so it's aimed at the guy's chest. "Unless you have a good explanation for me that doesn't involve you enchanting that thing to kill people."  
  
"I am doing nothing of the sort."  
  
"Really," Sam cuts in. "Because that sounded a lot like spellwork."  
  
"The spell was to free the Ewah," says the man.  
  
Dean isn't reassured. "The thing's been killing people. I don't think it needs to be set more free."  
  
The man sighs. "You obviously do not understand the context of this hunt. Perhaps you should leave it to the person better suited to it."  
  
"I don't think so," says Dean. "See, we usually don't bargain with killers."  
  
"And your story doesn't make much sense," adds Sam.  
  
Whoever this man is, he's good at exasperation. Dean will give him that one. "I would finish this and show you, had I the chance."  
  
"Or maybe we should make sure this Ewah isn't going to kill anyone else," Dean counters.  
  
"Had you let me complete my spell, that would no longer be a concern."  
  
"Look," says Sam, lowering his gun slightly, "It sounds like we're on the same side here. So how about you tell us who you are and why you're here, and we figure out how to fix this problem together." Dean shoots Sam an irritated look because he's not in the practice of hunting with douchebags, which this guy almost certainly is. But the guy is nodding his head in agreement.  
  
"I am Castiel," he says. "I am a Man of Letters. You are the Winchesters, and I am in need of your services. Though not," he adds, after a slight pause, "in this."  
  
"How do you know us?" demands Dean.  
  
Castiel meets his eyes grimly. "That is among the points we must talk about."  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Dean's heard of the Men of Letters before, even if he hadn't believed it at the time. They weren't mentioned in Dad's journal, and Bobby only ever dropped a few passing references meant to degrade them. It had been Tamara who'd really told him about the organization.  
  
"It used to exist," she'd said, as they'd sat in the library getting increasingly frustrated at the inability of the Internet to help them. "I know it did, even though most hunters discount it as a legend, or worse. Otherwise, where would all of our texts come from? The ones published by reputable people... _University presses_ , even. I just don't know what happened."  
  
"Maybe they all died," Dean had replied.  
  
Tamara hadn't seemed to convinced. "They knew too much," she'd protested. "All sorts of things about the supernatural, information that's probably lost to hunters now. And they were powerful, too, if the legends are right."  
  
Dean had shrugged, because when were legends ever?  
  
"I just can't imagine a group like that falling to ruin," she'd said. "They were influential people, all of them. If they were still around..."  
  
"Then we wouldn't have to do this shit." Dean had gestured at the garish red webpage that claimed to know "101 Facts about Local Monsters!"  
  
"They could have saved us a lot of pain," Tamara had added, and Dean had agreed without really thinking it could have been possible.  
  
If they are real, If Castiel is telling the truth, then everything Dad and Bobby and _Sam_ have gone through could have been avoided. Not to mention all the hunts where they haven't gotten there soon enough, where people have died because they hadn't known what they were up against. If Tamara had been telling the truth, the Men of Letters could have helped. Except they hadn't been heard from for a generation, and if they weren't dead, then what the hell were they doing?  
  
That's what bothers Dean most about this whole thing: he doesn't care about civilians reacting poorly to the supernatural, because they have no idea what the world is like. He doesn't care if they try to forget about it to the extent possible, so long as they keep themselves safe. But he can't stand the thought of someone who's been taught how to get rid of everything that's out there and still decides to ignore it, especially when they're the only people who could help.  
  
This, more than anything else, is why Dean doesn't like Castiel.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
They end up in sitting down together in a Perkins because it's the only thing open this late that has pie. Dean can feel Sam giving him a look of disgust, but he's hungry, dammit, and he's not going to order _tea_. The cup alone makes Castiel look five hundred times prissier, which isn't something he needs given that his car is a sort of powder blue, and douched up in all ways possible.  
  
"So," says Dean, after he's wolfed down half his apple-cinnamon, "You gonna tell us what that fine bit of magic from earlier was? And how you know us?"  
  
"As I said previously, I belong to an organization called the Men of Letters," Cas begins.  
  
"They aren't real," Dean interrupts. Sam kicks him under the table.  
  
"Over the years," Castiel continues, over Dean, "we have methodically cut ourselves off from contact with the hunting community for a multitude of reasons. Just because you have not knowingly met any of our members does not mean that none exist."  
  
"Great," says Dean. "Then feel free to go cut yourself off again. Leave the hunting to the hunters."  
  
"You know next to nothing about the creature with which you were dealing," says Castiel. "It is a victim, not a monster."  
  
"Seems like if it's killing people, it's got monster blood in it," says Dean.  
  
"I do not yet know its motives for the kills, but should we not seek to question it before rushing in blindly with weaponry?" Castiel's delivery only makes him sound more douchey and Dean reflexively starts thinking of all the ways to take him down a few notches without it endangering the hunt or reflecting poorly on Dean.  
  
"If we could do that, yeah," says Sam, with that face he makes when he thinks he's being a reasonable adult. "I don't think that thing can talk, though, and our first priority has to be saving its victims."  
  
"In her current form, she cannot," says Castiel. "But I have a spell that I believe will help her return to her rightful form."  
  
"Okay," says Dean, "so your plan is to release it— _her_ —ask her kindly to stop killing people, and leave town in hopes that you don't have to come back in two weeks to deal with a monster that knows you're after her?"  
  
"I believe she has reason for her actions. I will ask her tomorrow morning, since I could not finish the ritual tonight."  
  
"Uh huh." Dean takes another bite, wondering if he should order another slice. He feels he deserves it for putting up with this guy.  
  
"If we were to work together and share resources—"  
  
"No," says Dean immediately. Sam kicks him under the table again. "Look, I don't know anything about you, but you clearly have some freaky magic shit going on, and I don't think I want to hunt with that."  
  
"You will not have a choice," states Castiel, like his saying the words can enforce their partnership.  
  
"That's where you'll find that you're wrong," says Dean, pushing back his chair and tugging on his coat. "Do your magic cure if you want, but if the killings don't stop, we take care of it our way." He nods to Sam and Sam reluctantly follows him, leaving Castiel with the bill. Whatever, guy like that can totally pay.  
  
" _Are you out of your goddamn mind_?" Sam hisses, once they're out of the restaurant.  
  
"Last time I checked? No."  
  
"Dean, that guy was offering to help us. And it sounds like he knows more about this. If we can save the Ewah, we should try to do it."  
  
Dean scowls. "Then why don't you go work some freaky magic with him. I'm sure he'd appreciate having a buddy—doesn't look like he has any of his own."  
  
"You're such a jerk, Dean," says Sam. "I still had questions for him. If he is a Man of Letters, I think he might know a lot—"  
  
"Yeah, that's a big _if_ ," says Dean. "Funny how they fell out of contact with the group they were meant to help."  
  
"We just found one on a _hunt_ ," says Sam. "I don't know what else you want from them."  
  
"You're kidding, right?" says Dean. "If they don't want anything to do with hunters, then I don't want them messing with our jobs. We can deal with the work, always have been able to. Besides, I bet this is the first time anyone's popped their head out of the nest in a generation."  
  
Sam sighs. "I still think we ought to talk to him," he says. "He might be able to help us. You never know."  
  
"Whatever," says Dean. "Let's get some sleep. I don't trust him out there alone with that thing."  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
The next morning finds the Impala pulled over at the same spot in the road, Dean and Sam both waiting for Castiel's car to show up at the site. They have a cup apiece of the horrible motel coffee, which tastes like a mix of cat piss and rotted... _something_ , so has done a wonderful job at keeping them both awake despite the earliness of the hour.  
  
"I swear, if he got here _before_ us—" begins Dean, thinking that would be just like a Man of Letters, but before he can finish the sentence, a light blue car comes around the curve behind him and pulls into the same clearing it was in last night. "Let's go," says Dean, gratefully ditching the coffee and grabbing his gun, and Sam does the same. They jog across the road—no need to wait for traffic at 5:30 in the morning—and catch up with Castiel as he's locking his car.  
  
"I didn't expect to see you here," he says, surprise coloring his voice enough that he doesn't sound like a robot. "May I ask why you showed up?"  
  
Dean doesn't exactly have an answer, because he doesn't trust the guy, but he's hardly going to say that to his face. "Figured we'd provide you with some backup," he grunts. "You don't seem like the hunting type."  
  
"I am actually trained in self-defense, both hand-to-hand and with weaponry," says Castiel. "It is a tradition of the Men of Letters, though somewhat a formality by this point."  
  
"Great," says Dean. "Were you planning to get this over with, or...?"  
  
"Of course. Follow me." Castiel starts up the hill again, taking roughly the same path they'd tracked the night before, and Dean has to admit that he does seem to be in good shape. "I believe she will be in her...den at this hour," says Castiel over his shoulder. "Though she cannot talk, she seemed to understand me when I spoke to her. I hope she will take my word that she is safe from you this time." He pauses. "I need hardly tell you to not shoot her, because I _can_ disarm you if need be."  
  
"Your thing works, she's free to go as long as she agrees to stop the killings," says Dean. "But I hope she has a damn good explanation ready."  
  
As they reach the top of the hill Castiel bears east. "I doubt she is asleep right now, but we should be cautious as we approach. It would not do well for us to surprise her."  
  
"You seem to know quite a bit about her," says Sam.  
  
"Yes. I was able to find stories that pertained to her in our records, and yesterday was not my first in the area. Myth stays around a long time in the collective memory, though the truths behind them get distorted all too easily."  
  
"So are you gonna tell us what you know, or not," asks Dean. He doesn't have time for all these academic bullshit, though Sam is drinking it up.  
  
"That is all you need to know for now," says Castiel. "I believe it would be best to let her do the rest of the telling." He draws to a halt and Dean pulls up behind him, Sam doing the same. They stand there for maybe ten seconds, just long enough for Dean to start feeling a bit idiotic, until there is a shuffling noise coming from somewhere in the general direction of his feet. A snout pokes out of the leaves two feet to his left, and then the rest of the Ewah emerges.  
  
"Greetings," says Castiel. "I have come to finish what I began yesterday. The two with me wish you no harm so long as you do not wish to harm any others."  
  
The Ewah doesn't really give any sign that she's understood, or even heard, but she does sit down instead of leaping at Dean, so he figures he'll play along.  
  
Castiel, meanwhile, has pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and has begun chanting again, in that same language they'd heard yesterday. The words that roll off his tongue are not really Latin at all, Dean discovers now that he's listening closer; the biggest similarity between Latin and this language is the undercurrent of power in the words. But this language is both more beautiful and harsher at the same time, and when Dean looks over at the paper to see what sort of alphabet Castiel is reading, he sees nothing he's ever run across before.  
  
He looks over to Sam to get an opinion, but Sam's standing stock-still staring at the Ewah, probably having an inner nerdgasm. Which means that Dean's going to have to listen to at _least_ two weeks of Men-of-Letters this and Men-of-Letters-that and Ooh Dean do you think they'd let me become one if I read enough books and took enough tests.  
  
Dean is seriously going to have to have a word with his brother.  
  
As Castiel continues his spell, Dean begins to see a change in the Ewah: her face is no longer flicking back and forth between human and cougar so much, and there's some weird distortion of light or heat or something—probably the visual effects of the spell—rippling off her body.  
  
Castiel's voice has stayed remarkably smooth and even throughout the whole thing, and Dean has to admit that his mastery of the language is impressive. Hell, Latin's hard enough to pronounce, but this language sounds a hundred times more intricate with its inflections and accents and Castiel, as far as Dean can tell, hasn't skipped a beat. Then again, that's the sort of thing Sam would think so they've clearly spent too much time together, because Men of Letters are still probably all douchebags, and good pronunciation will only get you so far with Dean.  
  
At once the spell stops and Dean realizes he's been staring at the sheet in Castiel's hand. He looks up in time to see the Ewah transform into a thirty-something woman with olive skin and dark hair wrapped in the fur of a cougar, staring balefully at the three of them.  
  
Castiel looks slightly amazed, as if he hadn't expected the spell to work. Sam looks similarly awestruck. Even Dean has to admit that it's impressive.  
  
"Hello," the woman says. "You may go now. But you do not plan to leave before I tell you about myself, because you are here only to make sure the killings will end."  
  
"Your word is all we need," says Castiel, but Dean doesn't trust anything that's killed to reform that quickly.  
  
"I think you'd better give us the whole story," he says, keeping his hand on his gun.  
  
The Ewah begins to speak, and her story begins four hundred years in the past. "I was one of the best hunters in my tribe," she says. The braves had both scorned her for her will to be one of them and feared her because they knew she could stalk her prey both as a human and as a cougar. In a rage of jealousy, they had worked a powerful spell to capture her in between the two forms so she was neither of the forest nor the tribe. Ashamed of her new countenance, she fled into the forest and lived a solitary life—no animals would approach her because of her grotesque appearance, and she could communicate her plight to no humans.  
  
She had lain low, watching her tribe fight and then suffer and surrender, and had been left more alone than ever. She assumed she was forgotten. Many times she thought she would perish of cold, or hunger, or loneliness, but did not: between her gift and the spell put upon her that kept her in limbo, her lifespan had been extended indefinitely. So she had continued on until a young woman invoked the power of the Ewah in her prayer. She had no idea what to do after suffering assault at a party, with many of her sisters suffering the same fate. When the perpetrators had threatened them into keeping their silence she had turned to her tribe for guidance.  
  
"That is when I came out again," she says, her showing no sympathy. "These men could not be allowed to continue what they were doing, and the law was not sufficient to stop them. I did what I had to for the protection of the young woman who prayed to me, and her friends."  
  
"It sounds to me like you might be planning to go kill a few more people," Dean points out.  
  
"Now that I can visit the women in person, I can protect them and help them bring these men to justice. It is only if that fails that I will be compelled to take matters into my own hands again."  
  
"Of course," says Sam. Castiel nods in assent, and so Dean has to do the same.  
  
"As for you, I take your actions as a gesture of reconciliation, and accept," says the Ewah, "but be warned, if I am wronged again, I shall not respond so kindly." With that, she transforms back into a cougar and pads away into the woods.  
  
"Huh," says Dean.  
  
The three of them scramble down the slope, thankful for the morning light that has begun to filter through the trees. "Well, thanks," says Sam when they reach the bottom, holding out a hand for Castiel to shake. "I never, uh. We wouldn't have been able to do that for her on our own. Makes me wonder if we should start brushing up on some more subjects."  
  
"I do not think that will be necessary," says Castiel. "You may recall from our first...encounter that I needed to speak with you. It was not just about this hunt. I know you are ready to be quit of me"—and here he looks at Dean—"but I am not here by chance. The Men of Letters are in need of your help."  
  
"So you've been tracking us?" Dean asks, suspiciously. That would explain the weirdness coming off Castiel in waves.  
  
"No," says Castiel. "I was sent here to help an Ewah, but sources suggested you might be found in the same area. When you showed up I wasted no time in establishing contact."  
  
"What sources," asks Dean, but Sam speaks over him.  
  
"Perhaps you should tell us more about what you need, Castiel."  
  
"Very well. Shall we talk over breakfast? Or perhaps you would like to return to your lodgings."  
  
"Fine," says Dean. "Follow us. We'll talk there. But for the record? We were here because I don't trust you. And whatever you have to say can't possibly change that."  
  
He turns around and heads for the Impala. Sam is probably giving Castiel an apologetic look behind his back, but he's not going to back down so easily this time. It's not his job to help the Men of Letters. He helps people who don't know enough to help themselves.  
  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Castiel knows a surprising amount about their history, including their hunt for Azazel. It's the first thing he brings up once Sam has closed the door to the motel room behind him, and Dean has to give him points for the worst opener ever.  
  
"How the hell do you know that?" He inquires, none too politely, as Castiel hovers awkwardly in front of the desk. Dean pops the cap off a beer and offers it to Castiel, who declines.  
  
"The Men of Letters keep an eye on Hell. Azazel's actions seem to be part of a larger movement. We have recently discovered that the demons are trying to raise their former kings, all of whom were once locked in the underworld." He pauses. "This is why—there is a prophecy that calls for your aid. Between the two of you, you have the power to stop them."  
  
"A prophecy?" Sam roots around for a piece of paper. "What does it say?"  
  
"I have not heard it, myself," says Castiel. "It is being carefully guarded by Zachariah—my superior. If the demons were to get word of it..."  
  
Dean's not to thrilled to be on demon radar again, or to hear about any prophecies. "So what do you want from us?"  
  
"It is my duty to guide you in a ritual to subvert the demons."  
  
"When you say ritual—"  
  
"The demons will be attempting five summonings. We have the spells to reverse them."  
  
"Great," says Dean. "Magic. Just what we need."  
  
"If it's a simple ritual, why can't—why do you need Dean and I to help?" Sam asks.  
  
"I am not entirely sure. Zachariah has mentioned that it involves your bloodlines, and he will tell us more when we need to know it. "  
  
Dean frowns at that. He'll have to call up Bobby, see if he's ever come across anything about how bloodlines are linked to demon magic, or knows anyone who has. "And you think we're just gonna come with you?"  
  
"I will leave you to discuss my proposition, if you like," says Castiel, "but we need your help. I will be back tomorrow morning. The first thing you need to do is meet my superiors." He lets himself out with no further ado and Sam latches the deadbolt behind him.  
  
"Think he'll notice if we skip town?" Dean asks.  
  
Sam gives him a disparaging look. "We ought to listen to him, Dean. If he has a prophecy—we can't go against that."  
  
Dean thinks they could, actually. "We should call Bobby tomorrow, see if he's heard of anything like this. See if we can find an out."  
  
Sam assents and they finally shed their layers of weapons and hunting clothing, moving around one another in the way that's only possible when you've lived in the same place as the other person for years. Dean falls back into bed and closes his eyes, thinking that maybe when he wakes up everything will be back to normal.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
"Get up."  
  
Sam grumbles something incoherent and snuggles further into his pillow. Dean would make fun of him if he weren't too busy throwing a pillow at his head.  
  
"Dean," Sam complains.  
  
"Let's go," says Dean. "I want to look into this Men of Letters stuff a bit before Castiel gets here."  
  
Sam rolls over and looks at the clock. "It's four-thirt—did you even sleep?"  
  
Not really, but Dean doesn't want Sam to start— _fretting_ over him right now. "Let's go," he says instead.  
  
Sam grumbles a bit more, but pulls himself out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom. Dean doesn't want to piss off Bobby by calling him this early, but they can get started on their own. He combs through Dad's journal for any mentions of the Men of Letters—or anything that might be connected—and Sam fires up his laptop when he gets out of the shower. Dean is hoping the Internet will help them, because there's nothing that even sounds close in Dad's notes.  
  
"Dean, there's nothing here," says Sam after clicking through probably a million pages of Google. "I don't know how the Men of Letters stayed hidden, but they're way better at it than most people. I can't find anything on them."  
  
"Think they'll tell us if we ask nicely?"  
  
"Castiel told us quite a bit. There's no reason to think he won't tell us more," says Sam.  
  
"Except for the part where he doesn't know what the prophecy says. Seriously, you buy that?" Dean's pretty sure it's all a ploy to withhold information.  
  
"I see the why they wouldn't want demons to know," Sam replies. "Look, if we have to travel with him, we'll have plenty of time to pry."  
  
"I'd rather know before we follow the guy."  
  
"Then we meet the rest of the Men of Letters and ask. If they don't give us satisfactory answers, we can ditch." It's not a perfect solution but Dean figures it's the best they'll get.  
  
Sam closes his laptop on the problem, reaches for the remote and flips through the television channels until he finds some documentary about Hurricanes and the Fishing Population courtesy of The Weather Channel. Dean would complain except there's nothing better on, so he spaces out in front of the TV.  
  
A knock on the door interrupts them a couple hours later. "Good morning," says Castiel crisply. Dean nods his hello. "Shall we go for breakfast before we leave?"  
  
"Sure," says Sam, grabbing his duffel.  
  
"Good," says Castiel. "Then we will set out for Kansas. My superiors are eager to meet you."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean is not eager to meet Castiel's superiors. He's still not sold on Castiel or the Men of Letters, and Dean's sure that working for them isn't going to improve his opinion.  
  
Thankfully, they have a day on the road before Dean has to worry about that, and there's nothing that soothes him quite like the feel of Baby humming down the road. Sam stays quiet for most of the ride, lost in thought, and Dean knows better than to ask. Finally, Sam looks at him and says, "So, what do you think about this prophecy?"  
  
Dean shrugs, because they're no stranger to the strange. "I'd sure as hell like to know where it comes from, and what it says."  
  
"I was thinking the same," says Sam. "I know Bobby's got contacts—d'you think one of them would know anything about it?"  
  
"Might as well ask," says Dean. "I just don't know that I buy this whole thing. Why should they break their silence to ask us for help?"  
  
"A mass summoning isn't good enough for you?" asks Sam. "Dean, demon kings are...well, there's not much lore about them, but legend makes them seem formidable."  
  
Dean shrugs, because when you've been hunting for as long as they have, 'formidable' is just another Tuesday. "Let's call Bobby before we make any decisions,." he says, and Sam must figure out that he's not gonna get any more than that, so he nods his assent.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Men of _what_?" asks Bobby, when Sam and Dean explain what's been going on. "Dean, they haven't been seen in decades. What would they be doin' out now?"  
  
Dean shoots Sam an I-told-you-so look. "Well this guy seems pretty intent on making us believe that he is one."  
  
"Then you need to be on your guard."  
  
"Thanks, Bobby. We are," says Sam. "Say, you ever hear about those rituals he mentioned?"  
  
"Didn't he tell you what they were?" Bobby asks.  
  
"He doesn't share much," says Dean. "Says he doesn't know. Thought maybe you could help us double-check him."  
  
Bobby grumbles something about not being their encyclopedia but promises to look into it. "Whatever you boys have gotten mixed up with now, be careful," he says gruffly before hanging up.  
  
"Okay," says Sam. "So what now?"  
  
"Now we find out who Castiel really is," says Dean, reaching over Sam to grab the flask of holy water in the glove compartment.  
  
"And what about the demons?"  
  
Dean shrugs. "We'll get to that when we get to it."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Castiel is not pleased to have holy water thrown in his face when they stop at a motel that evening. He doesn't show any signs of being a demon, but the look he gives Dean can most accurately be described as a glower.  
  
"The Men of Letters have the ability to evade possession," he says sharply. "I am no demon."  
  
Dean grunts and pulls out his silver knife. "If you're who you say you are, give me your arm."  
  
Castiel sighs, but complies; the knife gives a clean cut and Castiel does not react, aside from the fact that he bleeds like any person would.  
  
If he's something bad, then, he's something they haven't heard of. Or he's just your run-of-the-mill witch, but Dean has never met one that messes with Ewahs or demon kings. Normally they're all about petty revenge or trying spells they think will give them power.  
  
"If you're finished, then perhaps we could get some sleep for the night," says Castiel.  
  
"Or maybe you could tell us why none of our contacts know anything about you," counters Dean.  
  
"As I told you before, Dean, we are skilled at hiding our organization. Our job is not to make friends, it is to protect the human race."  
  
"Fine job you're doing of that," says Dean. "You know, I'm not sure if you're just incapable of killing the bad guys, or if you just think it's below you."  
  
"I will not have you insult my work," says Castiel, and his sudden flash of anger makes him seem menacing. "As with hunters, a Man of Letters is isolated by nature of his job. And before you start throwing insults, you should know that it was the arrogance and single-mindedness of the hunters that drove us off in the first place."  
  
"Arrogance?" Dean can't believe what he's hearing. "I'm not the one walking into people's hunts and ordering them around. I think the reason you aren't in touch with the hunters, _Cas_ , is that you couldn't stand to defer to them when they knew more."  
  
"I assure you, Dean Winchester, you do not know more than me." Castiel's voice is frosty. "We can either do this now, or you can leave, but there is no escaping the prophecy. Believe me, I do not want to be here any more than you, but I have put that aside for the greater good. If you want me to have a higher opinion of hunters, perhaps you could start by doing the same. Good night." And he spins on his heel and walks away.  
  
Sam comes forward as Castiel retreats and hands Dean a key. "That didn't sound like it went well."  
  
Dean snorts. "Castiel is an asshole. What do you expect?"  
  
"Dean, I hate to say it, but maybe he's right. The Men of Letters may want about as much to do with you as you do with them, but if we worked together we could actually stop this thing."  
  
Dean snorts. "When did you become such a pussy?" He grabs his bag out of the Impala and throws it on his bed in the room. "I'm going out. No need for you to come."  
  
"Dean—" says Sam, but Dean doesn't wait to hear the rest of the sentence before he peels out of the parking lot in search of the nearest bar.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next day isn't any better. Sam is perfectly polite to him in the way he only is when they're in the middle of an argument, and Castiel barely says two words to them all morning despite Sam's excessive emoting.  
  
The drive isn't nearly long enough to clear Dean's mind, and at the end of it are more people like Castiel. If there's one thing Dean doesn't want to deal with right now, it's their particular brand of bullshit. But as they start getting close Sam throws disappointed looks in his direction and Dean curses inwardly and then sucks it up and promises to be civil.  
  
He is: when Castiel pulls off the Interstate and into a nearby park, Dean follows him and manages to not insult either him or the Men of Letters the entire time. Castiel similarly refrains from saying (either outwardly or by implication) that hunters are cocky morons, and even answers some of Sam's questions. Dean feels tentatively positive about the interaction (in that he doesn't think it will devolve into a fight, so maybe Sam won't complain) when a third car pulls up and out steps the smarmiest looking guy Dean's ever seen.  
  
His name is Zachariah, Dean learns, and he is apparently the superior to whom Dean has heard many a reference. Castiel's rudeness has nothing on this guy's; Dean can hear the sneer in every word that slips out of his mouth.  
  
"Ah, the Winchester duo. I see Castiel has managed to get ahold of you. You know that we have need of you, then."  
  
"Yeah, and before we do anything else for you we'll need to know why," says Dean. "So how about we move this party somewhere more private so you can tell us what the hell is going on."  
  
"The Men of Letters domain is closed to all who are not part of our organization," says Zachariah. "Even—no, _especially_ —hunters. We will talk here, and rest assured that privacy is not a concern."  
  
"Of course," Sam cuts in before Dean can escalate. "But we hoped you might know a bit more about what's going before we agree to help. Castiel mentioned that you don't want demons to get the prophecy, so..."  
  
"I'm afraid whether or not you help us is out of your hands," Zachariah says. "You are specified by the prophecy, therefore you _will_ do what you're told. At this point all that's left is for is to give directions."  
  
"Brother—" begins Castiel, but he's cut off by Zachariah continuing his power trip.  
  
" _Castiel_ here will travel with you to ensure that all goes well, and that the rituals are completed successfully. We will pass directions to you through him, and have you touch base with various members of our network throughout the nation. We expect to be fully kept in the loop as you progress."  
  
"Well _I_ think you'll get as much as you give," says Dean, staring him down.  
  
"Dean, Dean, Dean. We'll get information about your quest one way or another anyway. It would make it easier for both parties were you to cooperate, trust me."  
  
"Is that a threat?" asks Sam, incredulously.  
  
"No," says Castiel quickly. "Of course not. As I said earlier, we are all on the same side here, and fighting amongst ourselves will do us little good." Here he shoots Zachariah a warning look, and Dean finds himself warming to the guy just a little. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation later," he continues, "after I have had time to more fully discuss your concerns with Zachariah, and we have taken your conditions to the rest of our chapter."  
  
"Fine," says Dean. "Make sure you do that."  
  
Zachariah says nothing, just spins on his heel and marches back to his car.  
  
"I don't expect that your attempts at negotiation will amount to much, but you are brave to take on Zachariah," says Castiel. "For now, I must go with him. I will find you when it is time for us to meet again," and he follows Zachariah onto the busy street, albeit in a much calmer fashion.  
  
"Huh," says Sam, watching him go.  
  
"Told you they were all assholes," mutters Dean.  
  
Sam shrugs. "I don't know. Zachariah made Castiel look pretty decent."  
  
"Well, Cas is less of an asshole," says Dean. "Not saying a whole lot for the rest of them."  
  
"I guess we'll find out," says Sam.  
  
Dean doesn't much want to do that, but he supposes at this point, they have no choice.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Because they don't have anything else to do while they wait, Sam insists the try to research what they're up against. The search is made a bit harder by the fact that they know very little about the ritual itself. Between the two of them they try almost all of the possible keyword combinations in Google, and exhaust the library's resources on the subject.  
  
Just when Dean's about to call it a day and start flicking spit wads at Sam until he's irritated enough to let them leave, his phone vibrates. He looks down at the screen: Bobby. With a sigh of relief, Dean wends through the library tables and out of the stuffy study area to the courtyard.  
  
"Bobby. You got anything?"  
  
"Hello to you too, Dean."  
  
"Yeah, hi," says Dean. "So, uh—"  
  
"Unless you can be more specific about the ritual these demons are cooking up, I don't know what you expect me to give you. I have books full of rituals that involve demons. The most common are summonings, which is what this is, right?"  
  
"Yeah," says Dean. "We haven't found anything either. Been at it since we got in—well, we tried to meet up with Castiel's boss, but he was an asshole. So now we're stuck here waiting for them to figure out if they're going to let us in on what they're doing."  
  
"They better," says Bobby. "They got no right to barge in like they did, and without giving you information? Hell, I still don't know if I believe they're Men of Letters."  
  
"Well, Castiel isn't a demon, anyway," says Dean. "I checked."  
  
"You find out anything, pass it on to me," says Bobby. "I've got some feelers out to see if anyone has heard of an actual Man of Letters before, but so far nothing's come back. Everyone prob'ly thinks I'm losing my touch, all the questions I been askin' lately."  
  
"Thanks, Bobby," says Dean, though he doubts they'll learn anything about the Men of Letters beyond the fact that they're a possibly delusional cult.  
  
"If you get a chance, start looking into theory behind demon rituals. Only thing I've found so far is that all these rituals involve humans. So unless there's another brand of demon magic we don't know about, the easiest way outta this mess might just be to find whoever's behind it topside and get rid of 'em."  
  
"D'you think a demon possessing someone could do something like this?" Dean asks.  
  
"Your guess is as good as mine, boy. I'll keep looking through what I have to see if I can find anything that says different, but until then, assume there's someone behind this. See if you can't get any more out of those Men of Letters, too. You need to go into this prepared even if you are fighting with a mage by your side."  
  
"Will do."  
  
"Good. You give my best to Sam," and Bobby hangs up, leaving them with little more than they started with.  
  
Dean heads back in and relates the conversation to Sam quietly enough that no one can overhear.  
  
"It makes sense that there would be a human link," Sam says slowly, after weighing the information. "I don't recall hearing—did Castiel mention one?"  
  
Dean shrugs. "Even if there is one, how are we gonna find him? We need omens, signs, something."  
  
"I hate to say it, but—Dean, don't you think that's maybe a place where the Men of Letters can help?"  
  
Dean snorts. "What abilities have we actually seen them display, despite their bragging?"  
  
"Cas did manage to break the spell on that Ewah. And he knew what it was in the first place. I think we have to give them some credit."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. He's not completely useless. Doesn't mean I want him to know everything I'm thinking, though."  
  
Sam nods. "I think if we figure anything out, we shouldn't tell Zachariah."  
  
"Castiel will probably just pass it on," says Dean.  
  
"Not if we can convince him..." Sam trails off. "Maybe we just don't say anything about this stuff today?"  
  
"Fine by me," says Dean. "Hey, chuck me that book," and they renew their search.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Castiel finds them still at the library and cocks his head in confusion at the array of books on their table. "Surely you have not found a demon in Lebanon?" he asks. "We have specialized monitors, and usually we will eliminate any threats as soon as we sense them."  
  
"We were just, uh," Sam casts around for a good explanation.  
  
"Research, Cas," says Dean. "If Zachariah's not going to tell us anything, we'll just have to figure it out on our own."  
  
"Zachariah has relented, but only slightly," says Castiel. "However, I doubt anything you would wish to know could be answered by any books in the public domain. Our information comes from texts that have mostly been lost to the public, and even the hunting community. Nothing here has even a tenth of the detail."  
  
"Then how about you tell us all the answers," says Dean.  
  
"I do not know what you are searching for." Castiel pauses. "Perhaps Zachariah will be able to give you the answers you seek."  
  
Dean's already out of his chair and pulling on his coat by the time he speaks. "Let's get this over with." He and Sam dump their books on a cart and follow Castiel outside.  
  
"We will be going to the University to meet in Zachariah's office."  
  
Dean follows Cas' car through the traffic, drumming his fingers on the wheel impatiently. At last they make it to the university and Castiel ushers them inside to where Zachariah sits, waiting.  
  
"Dean, Sam," he says. "So nice to see you again." Dean doesn't want to open his mouth because he thinks the idea here is for them to be cordial, so he inclines his head in recognition instead. "After some discussion, we have elected to tell you more about this quest. We mean to ensure your cooperation and to help prepare you for what is to come. I still cannot tell you the prophecy, though. If it fell into demon hands, we fear they would use it to subvert our efforts."  
  
"How do we prepare ourselves if we don't know what we're up against?" Dean challenges.  
  
"Castiel will have direction from those of us in the know. I assure you, we will tell you enough that you can stay safe."  
  
"Can you at least tell us more about the prophecy?" asks Sam. "I mean, we know the basics—we're stopping the demons from waking their kings. But why do you need us? What role could we possibly play?"  
  
Zachariah sighs. "It may sound crude, but the spell includes blood, and yours is foreordained to work."  
  
"So can't you just take some and go do it on your own?"  
  
"It must be fresh," Castiel cuts in. "We also believe that your hunting expertise could be useful. The demons will surely attack us when they figure out what we are doing."  
  
"And you can't get any of your people to help, of course," snorts Dean.  
  
"For, what, ten demons? You should be able to handle that on your own," says Zachariah. "But if we must, we will send aid."  
  
"We can do it," says Dean. "I just don't see why we have to. Can we get back to the blood thing, why ours is needed?"  
  
"Prophecy rarely explains its reasoning," says Zachariah. "We were lucky to get your two names out of it, honestly."  
  
"Okay," says Sam. "So we have to go find these demon rituals and shut them down, then, and that's all?"  
  
Castiel answers. "It will be no easy task. The demons are determined to raise their superiors. Do not underestimate them."  
  
"Okay," says Dean. "Last question, then. Why the hell should we work with you?"  
  
"If the salvation of your planet is not enough—" begins Zachariah, but Castiel overrides him.  
  
"Dean, remember our discussion from earlier. Think of this as a joint job between hunters, if you will. Neither of us can do this on our own, but I think we all agree that it would be a job well done."  
  
"Fine," says Dean.  
  
"Then we have an accord?"  
  
"Yes," says Dean. " _Provided_ you keep us up to date on what's going on."  
  
"Of course," says Zachariah smoothly. "I can't thank you boys enough for agreeing to this. This will not be the last time we see each other, I think, but we'll deal with further issues when we get to them."  
  
"Or we could just do it now," says Dean. "I don't want to get halfway through this and find out that there's something major you're not telling me."  
  
"Always so suspicious," Zachariah sighs. "Dean, you can _trust_ us. We're not out for revenge, like the rest of your little hunting clan, and we're not hiding information for petty reasons. We're the good guys."  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe you should act like it," Dean mutters quietly.  
  
Zachariah either doesn't hear, or chooses to ignore him. "So, boys, are you ready to start?"  
  
"Sure, I guess," says Sam. "What exactly are we—?"  
  
"Excellent. Castiel knows the details of your first job much better than I do, I believe, so I won't keep you here. I know you have planning to get to," and he ushers them out and shuts the door behind them.  
  
"We need to go to Indiana," says Cas, almost as if he knows Dean's going to make some remark about what an _unhelpful sonofabitch Zachariah_ is. "The site of the first ritual is there. We also need to start formulating a plan of attack."  
  
"Machine gun loaded with rock salt?" asks Dean, only half-intent on being a smart-ass.  
  
"No," says Castiel, who seems to have taken him seriously. "The first step will be shielding your arrival—you are the Winchesters; I wouldn't doubt it if every demon out there were looking for you with intent to capture you. We must go into this fight with caution, not brashness."  
  
 _Caution_ is pretty much the opposite of the Winchester fighting style because in Dean's opinion it's the equivalent of _pussy_ , but he figures hey, he can indulge the guy by making him feel like they have a plan. "You got any suggestions?"  
  
"I can lay wards on the three of us," says Castiel. "We should begin that portion of our defense sooner than later so I am not going into the battle already tired."  
  
"Fine," says Dean, "but no spells without first telling us what they do. _Exactly_ what they do, none of this 'further issues' crap that your buddy Zachariah is trying to pull over on us."  
  
"Of course," says Castiel, like he hadn't even imagined doing anything else. "Dean, I do not always agree with Zachariah, though I must defer to his seniority. I will tell you what I can. The only information I will withhold is anything that could cause you harm were you to know it, or anything Zachariah has expressly forbidden me to tell you."  
  
Dean nods. It'll do for now. "Then let's go."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next morning finds them crammed in a hotel room in Indiana to do what Cas calls "plan" and what Dean calls "waste time." Dean hates downtime. Hates it, because he knows there's always more to do—especially now, with some sort of demon pseudo-apocalypse looming—and the longer the wait, the more people die. He gets that the demons won't do their ritual until the moon is full, and that they can't attack them until the ritual is already started—actually, no, he doesn't understand that.  
  
"Are you sure we can't just take them out now?" he asks Castiel.  
  
"Yes. We need demon blood for the spell to work," Castiel says, not once looking up from the incantation he's memorizing.  
  
"Demons bleed when they die," Dean points out.  
  
"It needs to be fresh."  
  
Dean sighs. "So we capture them all now, then kill them whenever you do your spell."  
  
"We need the demons to have started the ritual for this to work. It seems to be a reversal that has been tweaked for this particular ritual, though parts of it..." Castiel trails off and frowns. "I am fairly well-versed in Enochian, but I cannot parse the meaning here. Large tracts of it seem to be in some derivative language—I will have to ask Zachariah for a more exact translation when I next see him."  
  
"What, he didn't even tell you?"  
  
Castiel shrugs. "He told me the purpose the incantation would have. He probably did not deem it necessary to tell me the word-by-word translation."  
  
"Are you sure we should use it?" asks Sam.  
  
"If Zachariah says it is good, it is good."  
  
"Great," says Dean. "Maybe Zachariah should put his ass on the line if he's gonna send out untested spells."  
  
"Zachariah has many more important things to do with his time than trail across the country chasing down demons. If I am lost, I will be less missed." It's hard to tell if Castiel is getting testy because of Dean's interruptions or if he's just being his normal tight-ass self.  
  
"Well if Sam or I gets 'lost', I'm gonna be pissed," says Dean. "So your spell had better work."  
  
"We do not plan to have any casualties." Castiel is definitely offended now, and Dean thinks maybe it's time he exited this conversation.  
  
"I'm going out."  
  
"Dean, no."  
  
Dean looks back at Castiel, a challenge. "Look. You may know the spells and the rituals, so I'll listen to you on hunts. But this? You don't get a say in."  
  
" _Dean_. Demons are likely after you already, and if they learn we are here, they may well call reinforcements."  
  
Dean scowls and sits back down heavily. "So what am I supposed to do here for three more days?" he asks.  
  
"I would suggest you start learning as much as you can about the threat," says Castiel. Dean grits his teeth sits back down, pulling one of the dusty tomes toward him.  
  
Because they can't leave the room, they order dinner in. Castiel hardly eats any of the pizza, too absorbed in his work. Sam and Dean take a much-needed break and swap facts over their slices of pepperoni. For the moment, it's almost like old times again.  
  
"If you are amenable, I would like to start with the spells I need to do now," says Castiel, ruining the moment thoroughly. "We should not go into battle unprotected."  
  
"What will they do?" asks Dean.  
  
"You need to be hidden from demons and shielded against outside magic, in case the demons plan to come after you. The protections will not be unlike those from hex bags, but they will be stronger. "  
  
Dean still doesn't exactly trust Castiel, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with his proposal. "Fine," he says. Sam nods in agreement.  
  
"Then I advise you to sit down."  
  
Dean settles on one of the chairs at the table and Sam takes the other. They exchange looks and Sam gives a little shrug, _oh, what the hell_. Castiel approaches Dean and places two fingers on his forehead. The next thing he says is not English, but that language he'd been using when they'd first met.  
  
Dean feels a sort of electric sensation rushing through his body and he bites down on a gasp. "What the _hell_ ," he says, as the feeling fades into a gentler ebb of energy.  
  
"The unpleasantness will pass," says Castiel, moving on to Sam. "I apologize, but it is necessary."  
  
"Warn a guy, won't you," Dean gripes, though without much heat behind it. The aftereffects of the spell are still wending their way through his body, painting him comforted and relaxed to his bones.  
  
"Now the demons cannot track you," says Castiel. "The rest of the protections will activate only if you are attacked. They may draw on your own power if I am otherwise occupied."  
  
"Thanks," says Sam. "Do you guys have spells on yourselves like that?"  
  
"Only when necessary," says Castiel. "Magic does take energy, both to cast and maintain. I protected myself before coming on this mission, though."  
  
"Huh," says Sam, nodding.  
  
"I am going to rest now," says Castiel. "I will see you tomorrow." The door shuts quietly behind him.  
  
"S'pose we should do the same," says Dean, not feeling like he wants to move yet.  
  
"Yeah." Sam picks up his hand and examines it like he expects to see some trace of the magic on his skin. "That was...interesting." Eventually he hauls himself out of his chair and disappears into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dean sits for just a moment longer, savoring the comfort of the spell even though he knows it isn't real.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
By the next morning the aftereffects of the spell have fully worn off, leaving Dean tired and a bit cranky. He's already sick of being cooped up in the motel but there's nothing he can do about it. Castiel has forbidden him to leave the room unless necessary, and even Sam agrees with his logic. So Dean finds himself picking up another one of Cas' books, even though he's fairly certain he's not going to learn anything else helpful. There's only so far abstract knowledge can get them in this situation, and Dean's pretty sure they've hit that limit already.  
  
Sam's been working through a book on ritual magic the whole morning: another one of those things that probably will not be of any use in the end. Castiel is still working on his incantation, though he's moved on to muttering it under his breath to help with his memorization and pronunciation. It puts a weird atmosphere in the room, as the phrases brim with intent but lack power without the backdrop of the ritual. It's not a pleasant spell like Castiel's protective enchantments had been. This is a spell meant to destroy, and just hearing it is making Dean's stomach turn.  
  
"Can you take that somewhere else," he finally snaps at Castiel, throwing his book aside. "Or even better, stop? I thought we didn't want the demons to know we were here."  
  
"They will not sense anything. I am not actually performing the spell," Castiel points out.  
  
"Well, I can feel it," says Dean, "so you'd better hope they're far enough away that they can't."  
  
Castiel frowns. "You shouldn't be able to sense anything."  
  
Dean shrugs. "Sam? You getting this?"  
  
"Yeah," says Sam. "It feels...divisive. You said it's just a spell to reverse the ritual, Castiel?"  
  
"Yes. My apologies." Castiel actually looks contrite. "I wasn't aware it would affect you. It is possible that I have grown accustomed to the feel of magic to the point where I cannot feel it anymore."  
  
"Really?" says Sam, "I thought you would be more attuned to it."  
  
"Perhaps I am attuned in a different way," says Castiel. "After all, it takes my energy."  
  
"Huh." Sam shrugs and looks back down at his book.  
  
"I will continue to practice on my own," says Castiel. "If you need me, you know where to find me," and he retreats to his room next door.  
  
As soon as he's gone, Dean flops back on his bed and grabs the remote. "Thank god," he says.  
  
Sam puts a bookmark in the tome he's reading. "You find anything interesting today?"  
  
"No." Dean flips through the channels mindlessly. Nothing's on.  
  
"I was reading about rituals, and...reversing a ritual is seriously hard work. As in, not many people attempt it because it might kill them."  
  
"So?" Dean shrugs. "That's not our problem. We're not the ones who are chasing after this."  
  
"Dean, like it or not, we're involved," says Sam. "I just think...Castiel's putting a lot on the line here."  
  
"His choice," says Dean.  
  
"I guess," says Sam. "Why do you have so much against the guy, anyhow?"  
  
Seriously? "He showed up out of nowhere and starts ordering us around. How does that not piss you off?"  
  
"He knows a lot, Dean. I just think we ought to listen to him."  
  
It's not like Dean hasn't listened to the guy. "I think he ought to learn the meaning of common courtesy."  
  
Sam huffs a laugh. "I've met worse."  
  
"True," says Dean, thinking of Zachariah. "Not much, though."  
  
"He's doing his best," Sam asserts. Dean just stares at him.  
  
" _What_ ," says Sam. "Come on, Dean, you're not even giving him a chance."  
  
Dean's pretty sure that Castiel has already ruined one chance, and isn't exactly rocking the second impression either, but he bites his tongue and nods at Sam. It looks like they're going to have to coexist with him in for near future regardless of what Dean wants.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean has enough self-control to keep from jumping down anyone's throat the next two days, which is a goddamn miracle with Castiel and Sam constantly trading geeky talk around him. He doesn't join in mostly because Castiel has a way of making anyone who doesn't understand things right away feel like an idiot, and Dean's not to keen on that. Besides, half the time it's not that he doesn't understand, but that he's trying to come up with different strategies. Castiel, he thinks, sometimes forgets that not everyone has the same background as him.  
  
"I wish you two would just work out whatever your deal is and get along," says Sam, when Castiel's out on a food run.  
  
"We don't have a deal," says Dean. "He's condescending."  
  
Sam sighs. "And you're rude right back, Dean. One of you has to take the higher ground."  
  
"Blah blah I'm a pussy blah," says Dean, over Sam's moralizing. Sam just rolls his eyes.  
  
"Are you ever going to stop with the stupid insults?" asks Sam.  
  
"Are you ever going to stop with the stupid suggestions?" Dean counters. Their standstill continues for the rest of the afternoon, because they can't discuss it any further once Castiel returns and Dean refuses to give Sam the satisfaction of winning. All in all, he's glad to finally get out and on the hunt again.  
  
Well, almost.  
  
"We should travel in one car," says Castiel. He looks pointedly at his.  
  
"Uh uh. I got the arsenal. We're taking mine."  
  
Castiel wrinkles his nose. "Yours is inefficient. And too easily recognizable."  
  
Sam sighs loudly at them. "Can we just pick a car? We have to be there by midnight."  
  
Dean climbs into the Impala by answer, and after a slight hesitation, Castiel follows him. "If your stubbornness endangers us, we will have words later," he warns Dean.  
  
"We're crashing a demon ritual," Dean points out. "I think the car is the least of our worries."  
  
The streets aren't entirely empty, but a wind whistles around the town, chilling the night considerably. Despite his outward bravery, Castiel is much quieter than usual by the time they pull up to the clearing outside the town. "Be careful," he grunts at Sam and Dean as they all exit the car. "Remember the plan." He pulls a knife out of the pocket of his trench coat and passes it to Dean. Dean carefully slices his forearm and clenches his fist, letting his blood drip on the dirt, and Sam follows suit. Castiel's incantation over the bloodied dirt is hushed, sinister, and a gust of wind kicks up as he finishes it. Dean shivers.  
  
"The earth is now bound to us instead of them," says Castiel, whatever that means. "If you are ready."  
  
Dean and Sam grab their guns out of the trunk and Sam raises his eyebrows, hunting code for _you still okay with this?_ Dean nods and they split up silently, Sam heading to the front of the clearing while Dean edges around the side.  
  
Castiel follows Dean noiselessly through the small line of brush and they wait for Sam to make his first attack. The clearing, when it comes into sight, isn't pretty: there are at least twenty demons and a large, smokeless fire that is burning scarlet. "The magic is affecting the flames," Castiel whispers, almost too quiet to hear. "I can feel it. That's good." Dean closes his eyes to see if he can sense it, now that he knows the feel of magic. Behind him he hears Castiel start up the first of his incantations, this one meant to dampen the demons' abilities to use magic.  
  
Before Dean can ascertain whether he's sensing the spell or just adrenaline, a volley of shots rings out and he tenses up, ready to jump in.  
  
Sam's a good shot: at least four demons are down before they can do anything to stop him, and another incapacitated. "Good job, Sammy," Dean mutters under his breath, not daring to blink.  
  
"Well well well," says one of the demons who remains intact. "What is this. A Winchester? So nice of you to show up for us."  
  
"Stop your ritual," says Sam, stepping into the clearing with a wicked looking blade in his hand.  
  
"Oh, we can't do that now," says the demon. "But you're welcome to try to stop us." He thrusts his hand out as if to throw Sam backward, but Castiel's magic holds strong.  
  
Sam takes advantage of his confusion to attack, slicing his way through a couple more demons before the others react.  
  
"You ready?" Dean asks Castiel, watching the remaining demons begin to converge on Sam.  
  
Castiel nods. "I will need to be closer," he says. "Go. Now," and Dean races forward in time to behead the demon who thinks she's gonna slip one over on Sam.  
  
"Other Winchester," says a demon from behind him.  
  
Dean recognizes that voice from before. "Meg." He turns around to see her grinning and holding up a knife that's curved and sharp.  
  
Meg is a skilled fighter and she knows it, a smile constantly on her face as she dances just out of Dean's reach. She's flighty, but Dean's reach gives him an advantage and he doesn't let her close enough to touch him. He catches her on a lucky step forward, slicing her arm enough to make blood gush out.  
  
"Ouch," says Meg. "That wasn't very nice." She redoubles her attack efforts and pushes Dean further around the fire, to where he can see Sam slowly falling back against a trio of demons. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Castiel standing on the edge of the circle of firelight. His eyes seem to be closed. And three demons are headed right toward him.  
  
"Cas!" yells Dean, in warning. Meg reflexively looks to the side and Dean takes advantage of the movement to shove her backward. She trips and falls, flailing, toward the fire. Dean runs around her and slits the first demon's throat; it falls sideways into the second. The third demon has too much of a lead to be stopped by the tangle and he's headed straight toward Cas, whose eyes are wide open in fear. Just before the demon reaches him, Castiel finishes with the binding words of the incantation. Dean hears the fire whoosh in the background and Castiel reaches for him arm; as he pulls Dean out of the way he yells three words, a short, quick burst. There's a small flash of light and the demon drops where it was standing.  
  
The demon doesn't stir, but there are still plenty of live ones to deal with. Dean swears there weren't so many at the start. "Sam!" he yells, starting toward the mass of demons that surround his brother. He turns to Cas. "Can you do that again?"  
  
Cas shakes his head. "I risk hurting him. It's difficult to control."  
  
Dean pulls out his knife in response. "Don't space out again," he says. Cas nods and Dean gets in behind the demons, picking them off before they know he's there. But there are too many, and he's getting tired.  
  
He takes down one more and Sam glances over, nods a greeting. In his moment of distraction a demon jumps on his back. Dean lunges forward for it even though he knows he won't get there in time, but before the demon can bring its knife down, a trail of black smoke rips its way out of its mouth.  
  
Dean thinks maybe it's just Cas doing an exorcism, but he hears a female voice behind Sam say, "you're welcome." Dean can't see who said it, but doesn't have time to search.  
  
Whatever it is doesn't give up: within a half a minute the rest of the demons in the clearing have been sent back to hell and the only sounds left are the crackling of the fire, the hissing of the breeze, and their breaths, falling heavily out of their mouths.  
  
"What the hell _was_ that?" asks Dean, glancing around. Cas shakes his head: not him.  
  
Sam shrugs. "Whatever it was, we probably owe it our lives. Speaking of," he gestures at Cas, who's bleeding slightly from the forehead. "You okay?"  
  
"I'm am fine."  
  
"Barely," points out Dean. "Next time when we're on a hunt, you do not close your eyes. I don't care what kind of magic you're doing."  
  
"I had _thought_ you would be able to hold the demons back as planned," Castiel says. He sounds more testy than usual.  
  
Dean's too tired to have this argument (and the others that will inevitably follow it) right now, so he says, "Do we need to clean this mess up?"  
  
Castiel shrugs. "It should not affect the ritual either way."  
  
Dean glances at the fire, still burning a bright red. "You sure about that?"  
  
"The magic is done," says Castiel firmly. "The fire will burn itself out eventually."  
  
"We need to get back," says Sam, "before anyone sees us like this."  
  
Dean turns away from the crackling fire and the three of them troop back toward the Impala.  
  
The ride back to the hotel is mostly silent aside from a few murmured sentiments about the ritual, the demons, the abrupt ending. The real discussion will have to wait for the next morning.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They reconvene in a diner over breakfast, all looking somewhat worse for the wear. Dean gratefully accepts a steaming cup of coffee from the waitress, who hands it to him with a smile.  
  
"I told Zachariah the ritual was completed," says Cas. "He passes on his thanks, and asks that I return so I can prepare for the next one."  
  
"And we have until the next full moon, right," says Sam. "Do you know where it is?"  
  
"Texas, I believe." They take some time to digest this information, and the waitress comes over to take their orders. Only after she's left do they continue their conversation.  
  
"So...what do we do until then?" asks Sam. "Has anyone found...?"  
  
"I think we have escaped the public notice so far," says Castiel, "but we would be wise to leave town before anyone discovers something is amiss."  
  
They don't feel the need to rush through breakfast but as it draws to a close, Castiel's phone begins to buzz. "I need to head back," he says. "I will contact you when I know more. Goodbye Dean, Sam."  
  
"Bye," says Dean, through a mouthful of eggs. Sam kicks him under the table again and glares. "What?" asks Dean, after Cas is out of earshot.  
  
" _Manners_ ," Sam hisses.  
  
Dean applies himself to stuffing as much food in his mouth as he can and Sam rolls his eyes and calls for the check. They roll out of town under the bright morning sun and head south.


	3. Chapter 3

  
There are always monsters to hunt, and Dean and Sam find one lurking in the swamps of Louisiana. It's clear right away that it's going to be a terrible time because chasing things through a marsh is never fun. They look for it anyway, because that's what they do.  
  
It turns out its lair is in an exceptionally wet area that's way the fuck nowhere. Dean has no idea how to get to it without swimming, which is never a good idea on a hunt because it leaves too many blind spots and no quick escape.  
  
Sam is similarly lost for ideas. "Maybe we should try to draw it out," he suggests, after running through all their other options and finding them insufficient. "I'll go in as bait, you shoot it as soon as it's exposed."  
  
Dean shakes his head. "We don't know how this thing operates. It may get you from under the water."  
  
"If you have a better way—"  
  
"We'll find one," says Dean.  
  
"Before or after more people die?" Sam asks.  
  
"You risking your life isn't going to help."  
  
"Dean, I'm an experienced hunter. I have more chance than anyone else of coming out alive."  
  
"Still not a good option," Dean says.  
  
A twig snaps behind them; Dean and Sam both whip around in hopes they've caught the thing out of its lair. Instead, they find a short, brown-haired girl staring at them.  
  
"Looking for some help?" she asks, and Dean immediately places her as the voice he'd heard during the ritual.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he demands, pulling out a knife.  
  
"Well," she steps fully out from behind the bushes, "saving your ass, for one. What's a girl gotta do to get on your good side these days?"  
  
"A hell of a lot more than that," says Dean.  
  
"How did you know we were here?" asks Sam. Dean's been wondering the same; they're in a rural enough area that it sure as hell wasn't by chance.  
  
The girl flashes her eyes black. "You hear things sometimes." She holds out a hand as if she can sense that Dean's about to lunge at her. "I'm on your side, Winchester. You think I saved you the other night just for the hell of it?"  
  
Dean doesn't put the knife away. She sighs.  
  
"Look, guys, I know you don't like my kind as rule, but I'm not your enemy. The demons doing the rituals? Have no foresight. I don't want to end up any lower on Hell's totem pole. So you can accept my help or not, but you're going to have to accept that we're working for the same thing."  
  
We don't work with demons," Dean says.  
  
"Really, guys? I saved Sam's life. And now I'm here to help you, again."  
  
"Why?" asks Sam. "I mean, no offense, but you're a demon. Demons want us dead. And even if they don't want the rituals to happen, they don't show up to help us hunt."  
  
"If you die, the rituals can't be stopped, dummy."  
  
"You know about that?"  
  
She rolls her eyes. "Look, I'm happy to tell you what I know, but can we maybe find a better time? That rougarou's not just idly gonna sit there while we chat it up out here."  
  
"You could at least tell us who you are," says Sam.  
  
"Ruby. Now. Monster?"  
  
"Fine," says Dean. "What's your plan?"  
  
It's simple: Ruby draws the rougarou out, and the Winchesters shoot it. "Not like I can die," she says, with a smirk. "Or that you'd care. Besides, I've seen these things before."  
  
"Let's get this done," Dean replies.  
  
Ruby picks her way through the swamp with careful footsteps, somehow always landing on spots dry enough to stand. She's hardly within five feet of the thing's den when they hear a rumbling. Ruby motions back at them to hide, and they slip into the bushes and ferns.  
  
"Um, oh god," says Ruby, suddenly acting the flustered young woman. She pulls out her phone. "This is all a prank, right, guys?"  
  
The mud below her feet begins to move. "Guys!" she screams.  
  
A large, matted body lunges up at her and Sam and Dean fire at it. Sam aims for its head and Dean for its heart, and between the two of them, they take it down fairly quickly. It collapses back into the swamp in a huge wave that sends scum up Ruby's legs, but does no further harm.  
  
"Ugh." Ruby picks her way back over to them. "Nice shot. Next time, we hunt _not_ in a swamp?"  
  
"There's no next time," says Dean, because helpful or not, a demon is a demon. "What was that, you trying for your Oscar?"  
  
"Whatever," says Ruby. "Look, meet me for dinner after I get cleaned up? That diner across from your motel. I have some information I think you might be interested in, if you can stow the douchiness for an hour or two." She smiles at them then turns away and disappears through the trees and ferns. "I'll see you later."  
  
"We're not going," says Dean, as soon as he's sure she's gone.  
  
"Dean, if she has information—"  
  
"She's a _demon_ , Sam. She lies. It's what they do."  
  
Sam shrugs. "Look, you want a second opinion on what Cas and Zachariah are feeding us? She's our best option. We can use her to find out how much the demons know, and see if she tells us anything different."  
  
"Or she could just kill us."  
  
"She wouldn't have saved us twice if she wanted us dead," Sam points out. "Stay in the hotel if you want. You can be backup."  
  
Dean's not mollified by this thought, but when Sam gets it into his mind that he's going to do something, he's not easy to stop. "Fine," he says. "You better be damn careful."  
  
"I _will_ ," says Sam, rolling his eyes. The topic turns elsewhere as they work their way back toward the car. Ruby's long since disappeared, her demon powers no doubt helping her navigate the muck, and Sam and Dean are left to slog it out on their own.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
To say that Dean's nervous while Sam is gone would be an understatement. He sits in front of the window so he can see the moment anything starts to go wrong, and pulls out his guns and gives them a good cleaning to keep his hands busy. After he's finished that, he starts in on sharpening the knives.  
  
About an hour after Sam went to meet Ruby, there's a knock on his door. Dean wrenches it open to see Cas.  
  
"What," he demands.  
  
"I have information for the next ritual," says Cas. "We should review it."  
  
"We're busy right now. Come back later."  
  
Instead, Cas cocks his head. "There's a demon in the area."  
  
"I know," says Dean. "We're dealing. So don't interrupt."  
  
Cas nods. "I will wait for you to be done, then," he says, seating himself in the room's other chair. That's not exactly what Dean had in mind, because the point of this meeting with Ruby was to double-check Cas' information. It's a bit harder with him present.  
  
"Can't you wait somewhere else?" says Dean.  
  
"No." Cas doesn't offer further explanation, just sits there and watches while Dean runs his knife over the whetstone in a rhythmic series of rasps.  
  
"Dude," says Dean. "Don't just sit there silently. If you're gonna be here, you might as well tell me something."  
  
"You do not wish me to talk about the rituals right now."  
  
Dean shrugs. "You have a life outside of them."  
  
"I don't know that you'd find it interesting," says Cas.  
  
Though Dean doubts that Cas will find his life any more exciting, he doesn't like the silence. He launches into some throwaway stories about his childhood: the first time he shot a gun, learning to drive the Impala, his first solo hunt. Cas sits and listens to Dean unwind his tales and nods in all the right places.  
  
"I never thought much of travel, but you add a certain...nostalgia to it," says Cas, when Dean pauses for breath. "I have been places, of course, but not in the same way. Driving across the country seems mostly long, and tiresome."  
  
"You just gotta do it right," says Dean, and then tells him about the time they'd driven two hours out of their way once because it was hot out, and Sam was young, and he wanted to go swimming. So they'd found a lake. It's one of Dean's fondest memories: the afternoon beneath the sun and the trees, nothing to worry about because they'd successfully wrapped up another hunt, and Dad was happy and Sam was happy, so Dean could be happy too.  
  
He's interrupted from the memory when Sam emerges from the diner, thankfully without Ruby in tow. Cas, who has been mostly watching Dean, follows his gaze out the window. "Sam."  
  
Dean nods. "Look, Sam and I need some time. To uh, talk."  
  
"I can wait," says Cas.  
  
"Alone."  
  
"Very well," says Cas. "I will go somewhere else."  
  
He opens the door to leave right as Sam approaches. "Hey," says Sam. "What's up?"  
  
"I will see you later," says Cas on his way out.  
  
"Did he just show up?" Sam asks.  
  
"Yeah. Said he had information about the next ritual. But I thought we should talk first, see what Ruby told you."  
  
There's nothing much new, or surprising, in what Ruby had known; mostly it corroborates what they've heard from Cas. She has the locations of the rituals, but knows little of the actual spells being used—apparently the magic is more powerful than any she can do. The few other demons against the rituals refuse to show themselves or organize in any way out of fear of reprisal. Which means that, for better or worse, it's her and them against most of Hell.  
  
"Great," says Dean.  
  
"I think we have a chance," says Sam. "She told me why we were the ones who could stop the ritual. It's because we can learn to resist possession—we can retain some control of our consciousness, split it with the demon possessing us. A demon has more power when it's welcomed in a body like that."  
  
"And?" Ruby must be nuts if she thinks any human voluntarily possessed. That sounds like the kind of thing that leads to a demon taking over your body and killing everyone you love.  
  
"Dean, demons can do more against each other than we can. I would have all of her knowledge and power at my disposal. I would still mostly run the show."  
  
No way. No way can Sam be considering this, after all the harm that demon possession has brought upon their family. He was raised in this life too; he should know that demons aren't to be trusted. "And what about when you lose control and kill someone on our side? What then?"  
  
Sam sighs. "It just takes practice. Ruby said she'd help us learn."  
  
Ruby's ploy is sounding vaguely familiar in tone. "If we have this great power, why haven't we discovered it before?" Dean asks.  
  
Sam shrugs. "It takes a lot of work to train your mind for it. And maybe it hasn't been possible until recently—Ruby said the demons have been working a lot of new magic lately. She wasn't sure what it all was, but if it's something that affects us—"  
  
"Then we should try to remove it, not use it," snaps Dean.  
  
"I just think that it could be useful. Dean, they can perform exorcisms without incantations and attack each other without being physically near. It's not like learning it could hurt."  
  
There's a lot of ways it could hurt, actually, but Dean's not sure he wants to list them all right now. "We have enough to worry about," he says instead. "Let's not add demons to the mix, Sammy."  
  
Sam makes a face that says he's not done with the subject, but drops it for the time being. Dean cleans up their weapons and flops onto his bed, throwing the remote at Sam. "See if there's anything on. I'm in the mood to marathon some shitty TV."  
  
"Shouldn't we talk to Cas?" asks Sam, but Dean just shrugs. Cas, Ruby, the rituals—all of it can wait.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean almost wishes the next ritual were further away than Texas, because they can't do it for three more weeks and he hates waiting around in one place. Cas may feel comfortable with that much downtime because he's practically a library for all the time he spends reading, but taking more than a week off from hunting can get you out of practice, which can get you dead. Cas points out testily that hunting can also get you dead, and they find themselves at a bit of an impasse.  
  
Thing is: Men of Letters may understand things about all manner of monsters, but they don't understand hunting.  
  
"Can't you just get someone else to take care of the problems?" asks Cas.  
  
No, they really can't, because there are always more threats than there are people to take them out. Even good hunters die eventually, while evil is always multiplying. "We can't just drop what we're doing because you need us three weeks down the road," Dean says instead.  
  
Unfortunately, Sam seems only too glad to go along with Cas' plans. Kid's absorbing information about demons almost faster than Cas can explain it, and it almost makes Dean smile because this is what Sam loves: the hunt for information, for knowledge. At the same time, it pisses him off: they're hunters, not Men of Letters, and as soon as they're done with these rituals they won't hear a word from any Man of Letters ever again. The thought makes him increasingly irritated and he ends up slamming his way out of the room shortly after Sam goes on another tangent about where demons' powers come from and Cas starts on an intensely theological explanation.  
  
Dean's leaning against the wall by the Coke machine, arms crossed to ward off the chill, when Castiel appears beside him.  
  
"You are upset."  
  
"Jesus, Cas," says Dean, pushing himself up off the wall. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that."  
  
"My apologies." Cas moves so he's facing Dean, his ridiculous tan trench coat forming a line parallel to the wall. "I know you wish to hunt, but as my superiors have pointed out, it is too risky. Keeping you safe is among my duties, but the responsibility does not lie solely with me."  
  
"No," says Dean. "But here's the thing. Me and Sam, we had a good thing before you busted in and asked us to come with you. Which we did. Until you fucked off to see your precious superiors, when we got back out there and kept saving people like always."  
  
"You should not have done that," says Cas. "If you get hurt, you will be unable to do your part at the rituals."  
  
"That's it, though. This is all about what _you_ think is right, never mind that I'm the one you're yanking around. There's a difference between asking for help and ordering it, and you're doing the second."  
  
"Dean, I have told you many times that you are the—"  
  
"—only ones who can do this, yeah, I know. But that doesn't give you license to give us orders."  
  
"I am acting under orders as well, and I do so gladly because it is my duty. Perhaps you would do well to adopt a similar attitude."  
  
"Or maybe your goddamn orders are stupid."  
  
"We are founded on years of tradition and hierarchy, and for good reason," says Cas. "I defer to those above me willingly, because they have more experience and knowledge than I. We work as an organization, not as individuals."  
  
"That's bullshit," says Dean. "You defer to them because you don't know what else to do. Sam and I have more hunting experience than _any_ of you, but you still think you have the right to boss us around on hunts, and to stop us from hunting."  
  
"Part of my aim is to protect you." Castiel's voice is nearly a growl by this point. "I cannot do that if you insist on throwing yourself into danger, as I know you do on hunts. You and your brother both need to be ready to act at a moment's notice if we have any new intelligence about the rituals. That means you cannot be out hunting, or tired, or injured. I am sorry if it inconveniences you. But we had agreed before to put our differences aside and work together on this, and I will ask you to honor that now."  
  
"Well I would ask you to fuck off," mutters Dean.  
  
"Dean—"  
  
"Save it." Dean turns away and leans his head back against the cold brick, eyes closed. He doesn't open them again until he's sure Castiel is gone.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean passes the days reading, because there's nothing better to do. Castiel doesn't apologize to him, but seems slightly more lenient—or maybe it's just that he speaks to Dean less, though he's still unwilling to let them out of his sight. Dean tries to get used to it but it's disconcerting to look up from whatever book he has to see Cas staring at him from across the room. Dean stares back until Cas drops his eyes, but it's never a permanent fix.  
  
At least Castiel allows Dean and Sam to leave the room as they will this time, perhaps sensing that it is better for their working relationship. It's not like Dean can leave town, but the local bar provides him with a good, if temporary, escape. He also takes to going on long walks around the motel for the sake of being outside.  
  
Though he can't avoid Castiel at all times, he isn't quite sure he wants to. Sam and Cas have fallen into a companionship and some days, they'll swap stories about life as a hunter and a Man of Letters, respectively. Dean manages to pick up a few new bits of information about the Men of Letters, and he commits it to memory, benign though it is. He passes the scraps onto Bobby in hopes that between them they'll be able to figure out what's going on.  
  
Of course, that's difficult when they don't have all the information in the first place. "Who's behind these rituals?" Dean asks, at one point.  
  
"Demons." Cas gives him an inscrutable look, possibly one that means he thinks Dean's an idiot.  
  
"That it? Just demons?"  
  
"What else do you expect?"  
  
Dean shrugs. "Didn't know you could have a demon ritual without humans."  
  
Castiel frowns. "You bring up a good point. I will look into it." But if he ever finds an answer, he doesn't share the information with Dean.  
  
They stay in Louisiana as they prepare because Castiel doesn't want them too close to the site in case demons decide to sweep the town. Dean would rather be closer to the site; what if demons are wreaking havoc in Texas because no one is there to stop them? When he brings this point up Castiel argues that they couldn't stop the demons anyway because they need the ritual to happen so they can lock it down.  
  
"And the people that have to die because of the rituals, what about them?" Dean demands.  
  
"More will die if we do not do our job," Castiel says. "You may not like it, but that is the way things are and arguing over the facts will not change them."  
  
Dean walks outside and leans against the Impala, and Sam comes out to join him after a while.  
  
"Hey," he says, walking up to Dean slowly like he's scared Dean will spook.  
  
"Pulling yourself away from your books for me, Sammy?" Dean teases. Sam shrugs self-consciously, but Dean doesn't care about the reading. If it gives Sam something to hold on to in the middle of everything, it's more than worth it.  
  
"You still okay with doing this?" Sam takes his place next to Dean and looks up at the night sky. "I know it has to be us, but if you wanted to try to find a better way..."  
  
"Hell no, I'm not okay with it," says Dean. "It goes against everything Dad taught us. We're supposed to be out helping people, not hiding in motel rooms and crouching behind magic."  
  
Sam laughs a little at that. "Dean, I don't think anyone who saw you at the first ritual would say you were crouching behind magic. We got rid of a lot of demons that night."  
  
"Guess we did," says Dean. "Just wish we'd been able to do it sooner."  
  
"Like before they started this whole thing?"  
  
"Yeah," says Dean. "But of course, _the prophecy says_. Never mind that we don't know if it's even true."  
  
Sam nods. "But why would anyone lie about this, you know?"  
  
Dean can't come up with a good reason, which is mainly why he hasn't jumped ship yet. "I dunno," he says. "I just wish we knew what was going on."  
  
"Maybe with Ruby—" Sam starts, but Dean shakes his head.  
  
"I don't trust her either."  
  
"So we play her and Castiel against each other," says Sam. "No harm done. Just a way to get to the truth of all of this."  
  
Dean's not actually sure he wants the truth if it comes from the clash between a Man of Letters and a demon. "There a third option, that comes from someone who's not sticking around because they want to use us?"  
  
"I don't think we know people like that anymore," says Sam. "I think I'm gonna turn in, though. Long drive tomorrow."  
  
"I'll be there in a minute." Dean waits until he figures Sam is in bed, then follows him into their room. Tomorrow, they head to Texas.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
This time, they're better prepared: they know what to expect, at the very least, and they've revised their plan of attack accordingly. The downside is that the demons likely know they'll be coming. So all in all, Dean's not sure why he expects it to go better.  
  
It is, if anything, more of a challenge than the first. The demons, perhaps having learned from the massacre at the first ritual, have spread out so they are not so easy to attack. Even together, Sam and Dean have no chance of taking them all down. Dean also has no idea how they're going to keep them away from Cas, because as soon as he injures one, another pops in to take its place until he loses track of how many he's taken out. He hopes Cas' magic shields are strong enough to keep him safe throughout the entire ritual.  
  
Demons aren't stupid, and they manage to tear him and Sam apart despite the fact that they'd gone in planning to watch each other's backs. Dean manages to get his back to the fire which keeps demons from sneaking up on him; on the other hand makes him susceptible to an enchanted, burning death. Thankfully, there's not much time to think about that because he's too busy—his body has settled into the easy rhythm of fighting and he's completely in the zone as he makes it his goal to react faster than any of the demons.  
  
He can hear the fire hiss and spark behind him, and he hopes it's a result of Castiel's magic rather than a sign of a demon king rising. He can't see Castiel anymore, can't see anything around the demons, really. Sam must be okay, though; Dean would know if he weren't. Besides, he can hear the screams of Sam's victims echoing around the valley, see the black smoke pouring into the sky.  
  
No matter how many demons Dean fights he can't seem to get rid of all of them, and he's tiring quickly. The smoke is making his eyes water and his lungs burn and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. He's almost surprised that none of the demons have taken him out by now, but maybe they still want him alive. If Ruby told Sam the truth—and Dean hopes she hadn't—it's possible the demons think they're going to gain power by possessing him.  
  
A bead of sweat rolls off the bridge of his nose and falls into his eye, and Dean blinks it away reflexively. That's all the distraction it takes for the demon fighting him to get a knife in his arm, and Dean can't help but yell in pain.  
  
"Dean?" yells someone from outside the horde of demons surrounding him, crowding him ever closer to the fire.  
  
He tries to open his mouth to reply but ends up choking on soot and smoke.  
  
He can see Sam coming for him, ruthlessly hacking through the demons. But they're steadily crowding Dean back and he can't move much more, trapped between demons and a fire. But then demons are falling away from the other side too, and when enough of them have been cut away Dean can see Cas wielding a bright silver-blue sword that sends the demons screaming back into the night. Dean hasn't fought with a blade much, but he knows enough to know that Cas is far more skilled at it than he. The sight sends a new fire burning through his skin and he renews his clumsy hacking at the demons nearest to him until, between the combined efforts of the three of them, Dean is able to stumble free of the demons. Sam forcibly removes the final two demons from the situation with quick thrusts of his knife, and their bodies crumple and fall. The ground is a mess of blood and bodies and Dean can't look at the horror they've caused.  
  
"Dean," says Sam, stepping over the bodies that lay between them. "Thank God—I thought—"  
  
"I'm fine," Dean tries to say, but ends up doubled over, coughing up a mouthful of soot instead. Sam claps him on the back sympathetically.  
  
"We need to leave," says Castiel, who's bending down to look at something on the ground. "There is no guarantee that another wave of demons will not show up, and I have little energy left."  
  
"Yeah," says Sam. "Dean, can you...?"  
  
Dean pulls himself upright and wipes off his mouth. He still tastes like smoke and flame and blood and fear. "Yeah," he croaks. Together, they pick their way across the deserted battlefield and collapse into the Impala.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"You need to stop recklessly endangering yourself." Cas informs Dean once they've gotten away.  
  
"Hunting is dangerous." Dean speaks through clenched teeth, one hand keeping pressure on the cut on his arm.  
  
  
"I'm talking about getting separated from Sam," says Castiel. "It is unwise and always ends up with one of you barely avoiding death. You should be dead by now, both of you."  
  
Dean shrugs. "The demons don't seem to want us dead. If they did, they'd have gotten us by now. 'Sides, it wasn't like we planned that. They got in between us."  
  
"That is no reason to abandon your battle strategy," says Cas.  
  
Cas doesn't seem to get that sometimes you just have to go with things, make up plans on the fly. Dean doubts he'll be able to convince him of that so he doesn't reply, and the car falls into a strained sort of silence. Sam looks like he's dying to speak up, but through some miracle keeps his mouth shut. Dean speeds through the deserted streets on the way back to the motel.  
  
They split up immediately and without words once they arrive, Sam and Dean to their room and Castiel to his. Dean calls dibs on the shower and Sam doesn't even argue, which means he must be in one of those phases where he's scared for Dean's life. Which is just peachy, really.  
  
Afterward, Dean bandages his arm and then collapses on the bed while Sam cleans up. Adrenaline is still coursing through his system and Dean knows it'd be a waste to try to sleep, so he picks up Dad's journal and leafs through all the pages devoted to demons. In all its detail, there's nothing that comes close to this.  
  
"Dean, hey," says Sam, as he walks out of the bathroom.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I just, I don't want to say this, but I think Cas is right. About us getting separated. It's too dangerous, and if anything happened to you..."  
  
"Look, Sam, it's not something I wanna do either," says Dean. "But this kind of battle? It's damn lucky we stay in the same state. It's not ideal, but what can you do?"  
  
Sam sinks down on the edge of his bed. "We need better plans."  
  
"Like what? Demons are demons. Cas de-juicing them is good, but after that we just gotta kill 'em."  
  
"I don't know." Sam looks out the window. "Remember what Ruby said? About how we can host demons but still be in control?"  
  
" _Sam_ —"  
  
"No, look. I know you don't believe her, but we can check it out, can't we? We know how to do a devil's trap. Let her possess one of us in there, then we test if it works."  
  
"And if she tricks us?"  
  
"We have to _try_ , Dean. Even if she can't use her powers because of the Cas' spell, demons are still quicker than us. And they're familiar each other—she probably has the knowledge to help us defeat the other demons quicker."  
  
"No." Dean tosses Dad's journal aside. "I don't know how, but she's lying to us, Sam, and we can't let her throw us off track here."  
  
"Dean will you just think—"  
  
"What do you think I've been doing since she told us? If anything, tonight only convinced me more that we don't need her help."  
  
"You might have _died_ —"  
  
"But I didn't. We've made it this far without her and we'll make it the rest of the way too."  
  
Dean puts on his best _conversation closed_ face and Sam interprets it correctly, gets up and goes to his own bed. He's sulking over a demon, which is one of the most ridiculous things Dean's seen, but they'll deal with that later. In the morning, maybe, after they've both gotten sleep.  
  
His last thought before he drifts off is that if Ruby's so intent on helping she should have shown up tonight, and he should pass that on to Sam....  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean is rudely awoken the next morning by someone pounding on the door at 3:47.  
  
"The fuck," he says, grabbing his knife and getting up to answer it. Cas stands outside, looking frantic.  
  
"We need to get out of town," he says. "Grab your stuff, let's go."  
  
"What? Why?" Sam sits up so he can see outside.  
  
"The police have found the scene and we cannot risk being connected to it," says Cas. That's reason enough for Dean so he grabs his duffel and jams everything in, Sam following suit. Ten minutes later they're peeling out of the parking lot headed anywhere that isn't there.  
  
"Is Cas behind us?" says Dean, trying to figure out if the headlights in the distance are indeed Cas, or some other car that got in between them because Cas decided to stop at a red light or something.  
  
"I think so," says Sam.  
  
"Awesome," says Dean. "Next time I'll tell him to ditch that stupid car of his. Can't drive worth crap."  
  
Sam sniggers in the passenger seat and Dean lets a smile tug at his lips, just barely. They speed past small towns and long stretches of open land in the not-quite-dawn.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It's noon before Dean finally pulls over at a diner, too hungry and tired to drive anymore. They'd skipped a real breakfast in favor of some gas station coffee and a couple of doughnuts, but that doesn't really cut it after a hunt. Cas pulls into the lot a few moments after them and climbs out of his car looking more tightly wound than usual.  
  
"This is irksome," he says. "Is hunting always like this?"  
  
"Only when you're stupid enough to get caught," says Dean. "Let's eat."  
  
They troop inside, heads down, and order.  
  
It's becoming a sort of tradition, the three of them going to breakfast after a hard night, even though Dean would much rather have sleep beforehand. Cas, too, seems out of sorts, though whether over lost sleep or something Dean said, it's hard to say. He becomes slightly less dour after the food finally arrives, but by that point they're all too busy eating to carry on much conversation.  
  
"I suppose this is where we part ways for a while," says Cas, after they've all finished. "I need to report on our progress, and get information for the newest ritual."  
  
"You know what I don't get? Why they can't tell it to you all at once," says Dean. "There's no way to reverse or stop a spell once it's been done, right?"  
  
"In some cases there is," says Cas. "I am essentially doing a reversal of the demon ritual. But after the ritual ends it would be much harder for someone to undo the magic. It should be safe from any further tampering by the demons."  
  
"But if they knew what spell you were doing at a ritual they might be able to block it," says Sam.  
  
"I am not sure. It is already a reversal; that should protect it in some ways."  
  
"Huh." Sam signals for the bill. "So, what, you just go and memorize the new spell and then you'll let us know where to meet you next, and when?"  
  
"Arizona," says Cas. "Not that you should know that yet. I will tell you more when I next call you."  
  
"So you're just gonna run off after every ritual, then," says Dean.  
  
"What do you expect me to do? I am not a hunter. I have duties, Dean, and they do not all involve dealing with your problems."  
  
"Seems like you're the cause of a hell of a lot of my problems right now, Cas," says Dean.  
  
" _I_ am the cause of your problems?" Cas looks mad like he rarely does, and Dean doesn't much like that expression turned on him rather than some attacking demon. "Your selfish revenge quest against Azazel is likely the reason for these rituals. His death threw the entirety of Hell into a disorder, and the lower, older demons who found themselves overrun by new faces decided to solve the authority matter by raising their old kings. So if I were you, I would spend less time complaining about my life and more time trying to fix what I broke."  
  
"So you would have had me, what, let the demon that killed my parents and messed up my family go free?"  
  
"There are things bigger than you, Dean, and you would do well to remember it."  
  
"Fuck you." Dean pushes his plate away from him. "Go back to your Men of Letters. Maybe they'll have the patience for your crap." He makes his way to the back door of the diner and skulks around outside for long enough for Cas to make his way out of the area. Sam gives him a weird look when he gets back.  
  
"You ready to go?" Dean asks.  
  
"Yeah. You want to talk about it?" Sam grabs his jacket and slides out of the booth.  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"Dean, if what Castiel said was right..."  
  
"We're doing the rituals, aren't we?" says Dean. "That's all he wants from us."  
  
"What do you want from _him_?" Sam counters. "You complain about him the whole time he's here then get pissed when he says he's leaving. It doesn't make much sense."  
  
"Oh? Why does he get to dump the rituals on us, then leave as soon as we've done his bidding? That doesn't sound very fair to me."  
  
Sam shrugs. "It's not like he's not doing his own part. He has to prepare for the rituals on his own because he's, you know, magic. And Dean, he saved your ass twice, and mine once. Don't you think he does enough?"  
  
Dean doesn't think any one person could do enough to make up for the Men of Letters in general, but he doesn't say that to Sam. Just gets in the Impala and jams Black Sabbath into the tape deck, turning it up as they roll across the country.


	4. Chapter 4

  
There are the normal hauntings, local urban legends, and pockets of demon activity to keep them occupied on the way to Arizona. It's not often they spend so much time in one area, but Sam insists they should stay in the southwest in case something comes up. They take their time to explore the small, dusty towns and learn to appreciate the landscape. It's good like this, just the two of them again, and no Rubys or Castiels with their talk of bigger things. This, this is why Dean hunts: the grateful smile of the girl scared by her mother's erratic behavior; the free beer from a bartender whose business they'd saved from the ghost of its founder; the long days in the Impala with just him and Sam and nothing between them.  
  
For a long time the two of them don't even talk about anything else that's pending. Sam hasn't even brought up Cas' parting words at the diner, and Dean's glad; he would rather put out of mind the possibility that he and Sam started this whole damn thing.  
  
Of course, Dean never gets too much good at one time so that night Ruby shows up outside their hotel room.  
  
"Hey," she says, holding up a six-pack of beer so Dean can see it through the sliver between the door and its frame. "I thought we could talk."  
  
Dean lets her in and she makes herself at home on the spare chair in the corner. "So, Dean, have you thought about my offer?"  
  
"Yes. And the answer's no." Dean pops the cap off his beer and aims at the garbage can by the desk. _Ca-chunk_.  
  
"Funny. I'd have thought by now, you'd realize how outclassed you were."  
  
"We're dealing."  
  
"Yeah, by almost dying," snorts Ruby. "Look, not that I care, but if you guys get picked up by the police we're screwed as well. You can't just leave these places a bloodbath. Someone's going to find you out."  
  
"What do you suggest?" snaps Dean. "There are twenty demons there, and it's us or them. We can't just ask them nicely to go home."  
  
"I can do it a lot cleaner," says Ruby. "You can knock out demon powers? Great. But demons can kill in a lot of other ways, you know. Seems like you could use someone to tell you those little things."  
  
"If demons' kill switches are still on, why aren't we dead yet?" asks Dean.  
  
"Why would you be? Dean, you're their dream meatsuit right now, even if you're working against them. They might have other reasons, but no one trusts me enough to let them slip."  
  
"If that's the case you're in danger," says Sam. "You need to stay away from the others. Is there a safe place you can go?"  
  
Ruby just laughs. "I hate to say it, Sam, but any place that keeps demons out isn't a place to keep me in. There are certain protections that can be put on a vessel but I'm not powerful enough, and anyone who is won't put them on someone that's being possessed by a demon."  
  
Dean can almost see the wheels turning in Sam's head. "What if the vessel was protected when you weren't in it? I bet we could find someone, if you told us what to do."  
  
She shakes her head. "They'll be able to sense the demon still on her."  
  
"So we tell them that she needs to be protected from begin possessed again."  
  
"The spell has to have a loophole that allows demons to possess you still. No ordinary human is going to be able to do this, Sam. It takes a skill, discipline, and power. What your Man of Letters did to you? That's the kind of spell I'd need. And no way is he gonna help out a demon."  
  
"Wait, Cas didn't protect us from being possessed?" asks Dean.  
  
"He probably saw that you were protected already and skipped it. That kind of magic takes a lot of energy," says Ruby.  
  
Fair enough. Dean will have to ask Cas the next time he's around.  
  
"We'll find something," Sam says to Ruby. "If we can't convince him that you're on our side, we can at least make him understand the risks to our side if you get caught."  
  
"He won't understand," says Ruby. "Men of Letters never do."  
  
"You know about them?" Dean doesn't want to convince Ruby to stay for any longer, but he's curious if she has any information they don't.  
  
Ruby gives Dean a look like he's asking stupid questions again, but answers him anyway. There's an impressive amount of antagonism between the two groups, and according to Ruby, the best moment for demonkind was the schism of the Men of Letters and hunters.  
  
"Aren't you mad that we're working with the Men of Letters, then?" asks Sam.  
  
"Everyone knows it's not going to last," says Ruby, rolling her eyes. "The demons doing the rituals don't care—I think they plan is wipe everyone out anyway. But even if they don't, you two and _Cas_ have been setting a glowing example of how not to get along."  
  
That's stupid because at this point Cas is a better friend than Ruby, and Dean's been of the mind that if they _had_ to work with a Man of Letters at least it's Cas and not someone like Zachariah.  
  
"They're powerful, though" she continues. "But since the schism, it's like they turned their attention elsewhere. Which is no big. I like having a meatsuit every once in awhile."  
  
"Yeah, great," says Dean. "Speaking of, don't you think it's time for you to be getting back home?"  
  
Ruby stands up. "Not like it'll stick. You can't leave me behind, you know. Thanks for the conversation, you can keep the beer. I'll show myself out." And just like that she's gone again. Dean pops the cap on another beer.  
  
"Think what she said about the Men of Letters is true?" says Sam.  
  
"Who knows," says Dean. "But if the Men of Letters can get rid of demons anywhere and at anytime, I'd like to know why they stopped doing it."  
  
"Good point." Sam picks up his phone and checks the time. "I think I'm gonna go to bed." He disappears into the bathroom and Dean, for lack of anything better to do, decides to follow suit.  
  
He's about to climb into bed when his phone vibrates and he sees a new text message. _Information about the next ritual has been acquired. Will check in with you tomorrow_.  
  
Seems like his period of respite from the rituals has ended. _see you then_ he replies, and then he's dropping off again into another night of uneasy sleep.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean doesn't feel at all rested when he wakes up the next morning. Sam looks positively chipper, though Dean knows he didn't sleep the whole night through—either the first or second time he'd jerked awake Sam had been staring back at him through the darkness and had whispered "are you okay?"; the next, he must have been in the bathroom.  
  
With the help of a cup of coffee, Dean pulls himself into the present enough to remember to check his phone. He's not sure whether Cas meant he would check in via text or in person and there's no further messages from him, no missed calls. Dean turns his phone to vibrate before sticking it in his pocket. And, because there's nothing else for them to do in town, they drive.  
  
They make it through who knows how many miles of the flat, dry landscape without even the occasional town to break the monotony. They make good time, though, and Dean can appreciate the solitude. When they finally pull off the highway into the small town of the area, Dean sees a familiar blue car in the parking lot of the only diner. He pulls up beside it and they walk in to find Cas sitting at a booth with a cup of ice water and a small notebook, looking utterly out of place in his ridiculous trench coat.  
  
"Aren't you hot in that thing?" asks Dean, gesturing to it as he and Sam slide into the booth opposite Cas.  
  
"No. I find air conditioning a great guard against overheating."  
  
Figures his answer would be something like that. Before Dean can think of something else to say, the waiter walks over with menus and asks for drink orders. Dean and Sam each ask for a water. "It's a hot day out there," he observes. "What brings you through the area?"  
  
"Just traveling," says Sam with his best winning smile.  
  
"Well, you let us know if you need anything for the road when you're done." The waiter retreats to give them time to decide and Sam fiddles with the menu listlessly.  
  
"I gotta say," says Dean, "it's a bit creepy, you being here."  
  
"You are not hard for me to find. I am able to track magic, and since I put the spells on you in the first place, they are in constant...conversation with my powers. I calculated that you would stop here for lunch."  
  
"Can other people find us too?" Sam wants to know.  
  
Cas nods. "If they are studied in the ways of the Men of Letters, they can. I believe the knowledge is lost to all others."  
  
"And demons?"  
  
"You should be fine, so long as you don't go drawing undue attention to yourself," says Cas.  
  
The waiter comes back with the water and takes their orders back to the small kitchen. They're the only ones in the restaurant slightly after noon on this hot Sunday, and it feels both eerie and freeing. At least they know there's no one listening to them, but Cas still lowers his voice as he tells them the new developments.  
  
"I did ask about the possibility of the demons reversing the spell," he says. "They should not be able to since it is a pact sealed with blood, so to speak. But I would be wary regardless. The demons are constantly craftier than we expect and there is always the possibility that they have outsmarted us."  
  
"But the prophecy would tell us, right? If they could do that?" asks Sam.  
  
"Yes. It should." They fall silent for a few moments. "You have not had any trouble with demons lately, have you?"  
  
"Other than the thing where they're trying to raise their kings? No."  
  
"But nothing beyond that?"  
  
"Do we need more?" asks Dean.  
  
Cas shakes his head. "I can sense them, somewhere...they are not near, but they have been here, perhaps, or will be here. Be wary."  
  
Dean looks outside to double-check that they're alone, but sees nothing there. The hot summer day blazes on and there's not even enough breeze to stir up dust from the parking lot. On the other side of the road lay a few more buildings, squat and shuttered up to beat the summer heat, and then more endless flat filled with tiny scrub grasses and sage and whatever else can manage to grow. If there are demons hiding, they're doing a good job of it.  
  
The waiter comes back with their food and Dean digs into his burger hungrily. Cas and Sam both start in on their salads and Dean rolls his eyes at the epic uncoolness of the people he's stuck with on this saving-the-world quest.  
  
"Hey Cas," Sam asks over a forkful of lettuce, "do demons know that Men of Letters exist?"  
  
Castiel nods. "We are one of the bigger threats to them, along with hunters. Would you not expect them to be aware of us?"  
  
Sam shrugs. "It's just weird—they've never mentioned anything about you to hunters. I mean, Dean and I, we've seen a lot of demons over the years."  
  
"Why should they want their adversaries to pair up again?" Cas asks. "I am surprised that we haven't seen any larger attacks on either group right now, but maybe the demons sense that our...partnership is transient."  
  
"Right. 'Cause what self-respecting Man of Letters would possibly want to live in the dirt with the hunters?"  
  
Cas does the eyebrow wrinkle that means he's unhappy. "Dean, just because hunters have made their fair share of poor decisions does not mean they are bad as a whole. We have made our mistakes too."  
  
"I'm sure you believe that," says Dean. "Guess that explains why we have to do everything your way, huh? Or do you think the hunters are good people, but just not us?"  
  
"I may have misjudged you originally, and I apologize." Cas doesn't look very sorry, but he never looks much of anything. "I maintain that your bravery sometimes causes us more trouble than it saves, but it was wrong of me to try to control you."  
  
"Damn straight," says Dean.  
  
"I would still appreciate your cooperation, though," says Castiel. "I am willing to compromise on my rules, if you will agree to work with me. We are much more effective as a single unit, where no one has to give orders."  
  
"Why don't you share your enlightenment with the rest of your friends," says Dean. "When they stop ordering us around, we can talk."  
  
"I have done what I can." Cas looks down at his plate. "Dean, you must recognize that I do not have a huge amount of sway. I can do my best to change the attitudes of those I work closely with, but there are branches throughout the country who have hardly heard of me and would not listen to a word I say."  
  
"We appreciate it, Cas," says Sam earnestly. "Really. Thanks for what you've done." And he kicks Dean under the table in the way that means _argue and I'll kill you_. So Dean keeps his mouth shut and their conversation turns back to more mundane and inoffensive matters, like how they should take care of the next ritual and if they can do anything to protect the civilians near it from the harms of demon magic.  
  
They split the bill once they're done with the meal and head back out to their cars, Cas with a promise to follow them for the rest of the day. "I have little else to do," he says, "and if I must be preparing myself for the next ritual, I would rather do it on the road where you two are near."  
  
Despite Cas' earlier concessions, Dean isn't thrilled to have him on their tail again. "Isn't it easier to do whatever you have to do back with the Men of Letters?" he asks.  
  
"I mainly have to memorize information," says Cas, "and that is easy enough for me to do anywhere. Besides, if you insist on hunting as we wait for next month, you at least need someone to keep you safe."  
  
Dean hides a smile as he climbs into the Impala and they set off down the road again, a two-car caravan traveling across the bright afternoon.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Cas looks uneasy when they pull off in another small town to get dinner. "I still sense demons," he says. "It's been nagging at me this whole journey. You did not do something so stupid as tell them where you would be, did you?"  
  
Dean shakes his head because they hadn't even mentioned to _Ruby_ where they were planning to go. Not that it mattered, since she seemed to be able to find them whenever she wanted to. Dean's still a bit curious about that one.  
  
"Maybe they just guessed," says Sam. "It's not like they didn't know where we were, or where we're going to be next time there's a full moon. I don't know what they'd want with us here, though."  
  
"Any number of things, and none of them good," says Cas. They eat dinner quickly and then move on at Cas' insistence, in hopes that the next town will be clear of demon traces. They part ways as they leave town, Cas planning to drive a different direction in hopes of finding where exactly the demons have been. Dean watches his car recede into the distance and hopes that Cas doesn't actually _find_ demons because wicked sword fighting skills or not, he's not sure how well Cas would be able to do against them in a non-ritual situation.  
  
They meet again outside the hotel and Cas finally looks like he understands the problem, though he doesn't look any more happy for it. "It's you," he practically growls. "You are the ones carrying the stink of demons."  
  
Dean looks at Sam, who looks back confused. "Well, we killed a bunch of them."  
  
"That should not cause this. You are still warded against possession, yes?"  
  
"Yeah," says Dean. "Look, we're not demons, okay?" He pulls a flask of holy water out of his pocket and splashes some on both his and Sam's face.  
  
"I would have been able to tell," says Cas. "I suppose it must have been caused by proximity to so many demons. But you need to be careful, because if any other Men of Letters sense what I have..."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm fine with staying clear of them," says Dean. "Are we good now?"  
  
"Yes," says Cas. "Good night." And he disappears into his room.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next morning Dean is awakened by Sam's phone ringing. He mumbles a litany of curses and throws a pillow at Sam.  
  
"Fuck. Sorry," says Sam, picking it up. "Ruby?"  
  
Dean cracks an eye to see what's going on. "Look, no, this isn't a great time—what? Why can't you just tell me over the phone?"  
  
Dean can't hear what Ruby's saying but she seems a bit frantic.  
  
"Yeah, okay, fine," says Sam. "But no promises." And he hangs up and chucks his phone back on the nightstand. "Ruby says she has some bad news for us," he says. "She'll be here soon."  
  
"Cas is gonna love that," says Dean. "Dibs on shower."  
  
"Nice try." Sam disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him leaving Dean to wonder what Ruby had been so upset about.  
  
The find out forty-five minutes later when she bangs on their hotel room door loud enough to wake anyone in a five mile radius.  
  
"Keep it down," says Sam worriedly, letting her in.  
  
"It's not going to matter, Sam. Castiel is going to know I'm here regardless of how much noise I make. But listen, I think the demons are planning to supercharge their next rituals."  
  
"But the spell can't be reversed—"  
  
"If Castiel can't finish it, that doesn't matter," says Ruby. "I know he can do some sort of freaky shield thing but that takes a lot of energy, and if enough demons come after him they can break it. Especially if his concentration is on the other spell."  
  
"So what are we supposed to do?" asks Sam.  
  
"I don't know! Look, I just found out about this and I wanted to make sure you guys knew what you were getting into. They know how you attack now, which makes vulnerable. If you keep going about it the same way, they will tear you apart."  
  
Sam sighs. "Ruby..."  
  
"Don't hate the messenger," she says, holding up her hands. "I'm gonna see if I can find out more, but I don't want to end up dead either."  
  
"Fine," says Sam. He starts to say something else but is cut off by _another_ bout of frantic knocking at the door and really, Dean's getting kind of sick of that.  
  
He wrenches it open to find a panicked Cas. "I sensed—"  
  
"Just me," says Ruby, stepping forward with a small wave. "And I'm on my way out. Don't strain yourself with this protecting gig. We wouldn't want you to get too tired."  
  
Dean figures it's just a cheap jab, but Cas says something in the Enochian and reaches out a hand, and Ruby jerks to a halt. Maybe it has its roots in some historical event, then.  
  
"Seriously?" she says, "a binding spell?"  
  
"Why are you here." Cas' monotone becomes even more terrifying when he's angry.  
  
"Giving your boys some helpful hints about the rituals."  
  
"You are a demon."  
  
"Yeah, we're all so untrustworthy, right? Not like you use any information you've gotten from demons ever."  
  
Cas mutters something else that Dean can't understand and twists his wrist and Ruby flinches, then straightens up.  
  
"With your leave," she says stiffly, brushing past Dean and waiting for Cas to move aside so she can exit.  
  
"What the hell was that about?" asks Dean, letting Cas in so he can close the door.  
  
"It is not of import." Cas looks away from Dean's inquisitive gaze. "She is referencing the history the Men of Letters share with demons, nothing more. Have you been...consorting with her this whole time?"  
  
"She saved me during the first ritual," says Sam. "Since then she's been feeding us information and helping us out."  
  
Castiel doesn't look happy to hear the news. "Demons cannot be trusted," he says. "I hope you are not relying on anything she tells you to be true. She is almost certainly manipulating you."  
  
"Or maybe she doesn't want this ritual done either. Look, Cas, I know a lot about demons too, okay?"  
  
"Not as much," says Castiel. "At least now I know why I was sensing demon earlier. Her presence does us no favors in that regard, either."  
  
"She just kinda shows up," says Sam. "We're not calling her or anything."  
  
"Good. I suggest you keep it this way."  
  
Since they're all awake, they go for breakfast together. Now that the news about Ruby is out it seems a shame to waste everything she told them, so Sam and Dean ask Castiel about her more salient disclosures. Castiel does his best to answer but even he has some knowledge gaps when it comes to the organization. "Most policies are handed down from above and not questioned," he says. "That's the way it always has been. I apologize if that is not enough for you."  
  
It doesn't really matter, Dean supposes, though he's always eager to know more about these people who have concealed themselves so carefully. Their motivations, for one, and who is _actually_ in charge. Castiel refuses to tell them that last part: it is apparently kept a secret to protect their leader from coming to any harm, and he cannot make an exception even for the Winchesters.  
  
"Fine," says Dean, eventually. "So are you gonna come along with us, or go back?"  
  
"I see no reason I should not continue to travel with you," says Castiel.  
  
"We're just hunting," says Dean. "You sure you don't wanna spend your time elsewhere?"  
  
"I have found a certain...peace to spending time on the road," he says. "It is much less cumbersome than my brothers and sisters have made it seem. And this way if you get yourselves into trouble you will have me there to aid you."  
  
When they finally set off, Cas' car is right behind the Impala, like it's maybe belonged on the road all along.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Cas' car is no longer right behind the Impala when Dean pulls over for lunch, nor is it there (again) when he stops for gas in the late afternoon. Castiel meets up with them again for dinner, but only because Dean and Sam stopped at the motel first to drop off their bags.  
  
They don't talk much while they eat, a symptom of having seen each other so recently that there's nothing new to say, but it's a comfortable silence so Dean doesn't mind much. However, when Cas gets separated from them on the five block drive back to the hotel room, Dean starts to get a bit annoyed.  
  
"This has to stop," he says, when Cas finally pulls into the parking space next to the Impala and climbs out of his car.  
  
Sam heaves a sigh and steals the key to their room from Dean. Coward.  
  
"What does?" Cas has genuinely no idea what's wrong and it would be kind of amusing if it weren't in fact irritating.  
  
"Your driving. It's sort of like a grandma, except I've known old ladies who drove faster."  
  
"I observe proper safety precautions when I am in the car," says Cas. "You are reckless, and speed."  
  
"I get places," Dean corrects him. "Quicker than you do. Which is important, as a hunter."  
  
"We are not on a hunt right now."  
  
It's late enough that the sun's starting to droop below the horizon and the lights in the hotel parking lot flicker on one by one, buzzing slightly as they do so. "Well it's still frickin' annoying to have to wait for you," says Dean. "You need to learn to drive."  
  
"I drive well," says Castiel. "You are the one who does not."  
  
"I drive just fine," says Dean. And he does. Mostly. Nothing bad that's happened in the car has been his fault, anyway.  
  
"Well I don't know what you expect of me. Just because I am hunting with you does not mean I am prepared to break the law."  
  
Dean sniggers at that because sometime around his seventeenth birthday he quit counting how many laws he was breaking because it had lost its thrill. "You might wanna get over that."  
  
Cas' forehead wrinkles like he has some sort of deep-seated problem with driving twenty-seven in a twenty-five zone.  
  
"Look," says Dean, "if you're going to travel with us, just travel with us. Ditch your car with the Men of Letters. It's not a great car for the road anyhow."  
  
"So it is my car you have a problem with?"  
  
"Well, she's not _my_ car," says Dean, looking fondly at the Impala. If he's honest with himself (which he rarely is), he has at little something against every car that's not the Impala because perfection has one form, and she's it.  
  
Cas snorts so softly that Dean almost misses it, thinks he might have imagined it because it seems like such an improper gesture for one such as him. "I am going to bed," he says. "Perhaps you should get some sleep too."  
  
Dean's hardly tired but he supposes they have to keep going the next day, and the next day after that, until they find another hunt to keep them busy. "Fine," he says. "But think about it, will ya?"  
  
Cas says nothing as he unlocks his room and disappears inside. Dean considers doing the same, but he's still to restless to go to bed. Instead, he perches on the hood of the Impala and looks up at the night sky.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"We should go to Denver" says Castiel the next morning at breakfast.  
  
Dean just looks at him, waiting for more information. None seems to be forthcoming. "Denver," he repeats.  
  
Castiel nods. "One of our largest centers is there," he says. "If I am to be traveling with you, I will need to have more resources at my disposal. Sometimes my current knowledge is not enough. And, as you suggested, I can leave my car there so we can travel in a more economical fashion."  
  
"Okay," says Sam. "So do we need to do anything, then? Dean and I?"  
  
"I have no doubt that Uriel—the leader of the chapter—will want to meet you," says Castiel with a small smile. "You have become somewhat infamous as hunters over the past few weeks." Dean's not really looking forward to that part. Sam, on the other hand, looks ecstatic.  
  
"Why the hell do you want to meet _another_ one of them?" Dean asks him, later. "Zachariah was a huge douche, this guy is probably gonna be the same."  
  
"Cas is nice," says Sam. "Maybe Uriel is too."  
  
"Big maybe. Cas took awhile to get there."  
  
"Dean, just give him a chance," says Sam for about the fifteen billionth time since they've started this thing, but since Dean can't deny his little brother anything, he agrees.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Uriel ruins his chance about five seconds in when he makes it clear that he plans to stay ten feet away from them at all times, and tells Castiel that he's disappointed to see one of their own "gone native."  
  
Cas looks more confused than ashamed, but Dean defensively reaches out to straighten his tie for him because it's never right. Uriel looks like he might have a fit.  
  
"I thought it interesting that you have chosen to travel with them, brother," he says, eyes tracking Dean's hands, "but now perhaps I understand."  
  
Dean's not sure what Uriel's understanding is, but _his_ is that Uriel is a douche and that no one in their right mind would want to spend two weeks with him when they could be out hunting. Sam gives him a look that says he knows that Dean is thinking this but can he _please_ keep it from showing on his face.  
  
"I find I can understand hunting better this way," says Cas. "This may be a ritual, but it does not belong fully to the Men of Letters. We would do well to remember that."  
  
"It seems that you are remembering it for all of us, and perhaps then some," says Uriel. "Have you forgotten the bylaws our grandmasters laid down before you?"  
  
"I remember the duty we swore to uphold," says Castiel, "and that is one of protection. I will see that I fulfill my it, no matter what I must do."  
  
"Careful, brother," says Uriel. "You do not want to go too far. You may find you have nowhere to return if you do."  
  
It sounds sort of like Uriel's threatening Cas but he doesn't react in any way so Dean refrains from pulling out any weapons. Not that he would actually hurt Uriel, but he finds it makes him feel better to intimidate people who try to mess with him and if that makes him petty then so be it.  
  
After Cas and Uriel are done with their standoff, Uriel turns to the Winchesters. "And you," he says, "you are still dedicated to this cause, despite your initial...reluctance?"  
  
"We've done two rituals," says Dean. "I don't know what else you want from us."  
  
"I want to know that we have your true cooperation and not just a transient bit of help that will disappear once it feels it has done as much as it must."  
  
Dean snorts because that sounds more like what the Men of Letters are doing than what he's going to do. "Why don't you ask yourself the same thing?" he says. "From day one, your people have been reluctant to give us more information or more aid. I don't see where you get to clam commitment to this thing."  
  
"The prophecy was interpreted by us which means it is up to us to see it fulfilled," says Uriel. "Do you swear you will do whatever it takes?"  
  
"No," says Dean. "Not unless you let us see the prophecy."  
  
Uriel glances at Castiel. "You are sure they are the only ones who can be used, brother?"  
  
"They have done a more than satisfactory job so far," says Cas icily. "I see no reason for this ceremony, Uriel. Give us what we need and let us be on our way."  
  
"I cannot let you run off with sensitive information if I cannot be certain that it is going toward the right cause," says Uriel. He turns back to the Winchesters. "Do you swear to ensure the safety of Castiel and the important knowledge that he possesses?"  
  
"Cas is safe as long as he's with us," Sam answers.  
  
"And you swear to do whatever you must to uphold the end of this bargain, even if what we tell you does not match up to your expectation of what you should do?"  
  
Dean glares at him. "No."  
  
"Then I'm afraid we cannot let you go until it is time for you to complete the next ritual."  
  
"Brother," says Castiel in warning.  
  
"They have a choice, and they must make it," says Uriel. "If they choose to obey then we have no problem with letting you leave. But if they do not, I have been instructed to keep them here."  
  
"Fine," says Dean. "We'll do what Cas tells us. If it's related to this whole demons mess."  
  
"Very well." Uriel smiles at them but it is not a happy expression. "Then Castiel, you may find us later to gather the supplies you need. These... _hunters_ are still not allowed inside any of our current bases." The way he says hunters makes it clear that he would rather replace the title with a much nastier word.  
  
"I would also like to leave my car here with you for the duration of the rituals," says Cas.  
  
"If that is what you wish. But Castiel, know that if you continue this route you will face review when you return to us. Prepare yourself accordingly."  
  
Castiel nods. "Good day, Uriel."  
  
"Good day."  
  
Uriel turns around and walks back to his car and Dean sinks back onto the bench of the picnic table. "Face review? What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"There are rules against interacting with hunters," says Castiel. "They were formed after the schism between the Men of Letters and...your kind. Uriel believes me to be breaking them."  
  
"I thought they wanted us to work together," says Dean.  
  
"Work together, yes," says Castiel. "But he thinks we are becoming too close, and that I am a threat to the secrecy and honor of our society." He looks at Dean until Dean is forced to drop his gaze because he doesn't know how to respond. "He may be correct in that regard, but it is possible that our rules are in the wrong."  
  
Dean nods. "He's a bastard," he says. "I wouldn't think too much of breaking any rules he lives by."  
  
Castiel gives a small smile. "I do hope his superiors will see it in the same light you do," he says. "Otherwise, the consequences may be dire."  
  
"If we stop the demons, I don't think they can punish you, Cas," says Sam. "So we'll do that, and then see what Uriel's got to say. Right?"  
  
"Right," says Dean, when Cas doesn't answer. "So let's figure out what we have to do."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
As promised, they roll out of Denver together in the Impala, Castiel and a veritable library in the backseat. Dean points them toward Grand Junction because there's been signs that add up to a vengeful spirit in an abandoned mine shaft near the city. Cas still isn't thrilled that they're hunting, but he doesn't do anything more than scowl at their carryings-on. He even joins in their conversation at some points, filling in interesting details about the job that Dean has no idea how he even knows.  
  
"Do you sit around and study these things for fun?" he asks.  
  
Cas shrugs. "I used to be stationed in Colorado. We like to know the local histories."  
  
"Why?" Dean pushes.  
  
"It is a tradition."  
  
"Yeah, I got that," says Dean. "But...why bother with all this stuff? Not like you've used that knowledge before now."  
  
"Some of our traditions are outdated," says Cas. "This particular one may stem from the days before the schism. Hunters were always more nomadic than the Men of Letters...when you and Sam have to do research before hunts, that is where the Men of Letters may have helped in the past."  
  
"Huh," says Sam. "So instead of libraries, the hunters visited you."  
  
Cas nods.  
  
"Oh," says Dean. "So you got all this knowledge, but when the schism happened you guys just....stopped sharing?"  
  
"Yes," says Cas. "The hunters no longer came to us, and we no longer welcomed them. It was not all on us, Dean."  
  
"No, no," says Dean. "I just—how can you sit there knowing what you know and not do anything about it?"  
  
"It is hardly nothing," says Cas. "There are texts from ancient times that we are working to recover or translate, and new lore is always being uncovered—like this prophecy, for instance. As your work keeps you busy, so does ours."  
  
"And it doesn't bug you that it's all theoretical," Dean says flatly.  
  
"If it were, it might," says Cas. "But Dean, I think you underestimate us. Just because we do not hunt as you do does not mean we are sitting idle. Our skill in magic is always increasing, and we continue to search for ways to protect the people on our own."  
  
Dean huffs a sigh because he supposes Cas is right, just doesn't want to admit it. He can't imagine not being on the hunt, knowing what's out there.  
  
"My answer does not satisfy you," says Cas, with a slight smile.  
  
"Just—you've got swords and shit, but don't bother to learn how to use a gun filled with rock salt?"  
  
"There are other ways of combating evil, Dean. That is where we excel. It just happens that our work happens to be less...physical than yours. Though I can use a gun," Cas tacks on to the end.  
  
"I think Dean's saying, why not both?" asks Sam. "I mean, we do it—it is possible to know about things and to shoot them at the same time."  
  
"Perhaps," says Cas. "But your knowledge is in a different range than ours. Hunting is much like going to a vocational school: you learn what you need to know, and apply it. The Men of Letters...our advanced members would rival PhDs with the depth of their knowledge, and have a great deal more scope than some scholars. To know as much as we do and still have time to hunt would be nearly impossible."  
  
"You're here right now," Dean points out, "hunting."  
  
"I am merely accompanying you," Cas corrects him. "I am serving the traditional role of the Men of Letters, which was to aid hunters when necessary. Traveling with you may be a bit unorthodox, but I think those guidelines were laid down far before people had cars."  
  
"But then your magic?" asks Sam. "If the Men of Letters didn't go on hunts..."  
  
"Magic helped us protect the areas around us without hunters," says Cas. "We did not know as much in the past, so we could not do it all on our own. These days we might be able to, if there were enough of us, but magic takes great amounts of mental strength and energy. Not just anyone can do it."  
  
"Do you have to be born into it?" asks Sam.  
  
Cas shakes his head. "Most of our magicians have been, of course—I was—but there is no reason one born outside of the fold could not be taught the same lessons. It might be harder for them to pick up, depending on how old they are when they start learning, but theoretically anyone could."  
  
Sam looks too intrigued, and Dean smiles a bit to see it. He doubts Sam will actually learn magic but if there's an outsider who could pick it up, it would be his little brother. And maybe, if he turned out more like Cas than the rest of the Men of Letters, Dean would be okay with that.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Between the Winchester arsenal and Cas' advanced knowledge, the ghost doesn't stand a chance. The three of them head down into the mineshaft, Dean leading the way and Cas and Sam behind him.  
  
"Turn here," says Cas, when they reach a branch in the tunnels. He's using some sort of spell to help them find the remains, and Dean is glad—navigating caves is not his favorite thing to do, even when he has a map.  
  
"Do you have anything to mark the places we turn?" asks Sam. "I mean, people die in these places."  
  
Cas murmurs something and Dean feels the familiar buzz of magic in the air. He turns around to look. The corner of the cave wall seems to shimmer, gently. "There," says Cas, sounding pleased with himself. "The magic will track us now, and lead us back out. We will not get lost."  
  
"Great," says Dean. "Don't get separated." He turns back to the path and heads forward again, hoping that the guy is somewhere close. They trek on for fifteen more minutes undisturbed, and just when they've made it into the room where the bones are supposed to be, Dean is very nearly killed by a falling bit of ceiling.  
  
" _Fuck,_ " he swears, as Cas pulls him backward out of its path.  
  
Sam is instantly on high alert. "Ghost?" he asks, "Or just old cave?"  
  
"Ghost," says Cas.  
  
Dean pulls out his shotgun and scans the cave for it. Another downside of hunting underground: almost complete darkness. "Where are the bones?" he asks Cas.  
  
"They should be on the far end of this room." Cas jerks Dean backward again as another shower of rock falls in the place he had been standing. "I suggest we finish this quickly, before we are all trapped."  
  
Dean's okay with that. "Sam," he says. "You're gonna go after the bones. Cas, however you're finding the ghost, keep doing it. I need to know where he is."  
  
"I can—" Cas puts a hand on Dean's neck and Dean feels that familiar sensation of magic settle around his body. As soon as Cas finishes his incantation the ghost begins to glow. Dean takes aim and sends a round of rock salt through its head.  
  
Sam sprints across the chamber, casting for the bones with his flashlight. The ghost starts to re-form above Sam's head and Dean takes him out again.  
  
"We need to move," Cas says. "Sooner or later the ghost is going to figure out that you won't be able to shoot him if he's on the other side of Sam."  
  
As soon as Dean takes a step forward his vision fades again; the tendrils of ghost that had been coalescing in the middle of the room are no more.  
  
"I need to be touching you for the spell to work," says Cas, irritated, and Dean swears. Cas' hand brushes over the back of his neck again just in time for him to send another blast of rock salt at the ghost.  
  
"With me, then," Dean says, and they make their way across the cave.  
  
Sam has found a pile of rubble that looks like the perfect hiding spot for a body and is excavating it by the time they reach him. "Almost there," he says. Dean doesn't say anything in reply, just sends another shot at the ghostly glow bearing down on them.  
  
Soon enough there's a familiar _flick_ and Dean glances down in time to see Sam toss his lighter onto the pile of bones. The ghost combusts above them, casting shadows on the cave walls. Cas' spell makes it glow even brighter and Dean marvels at the show until the flames at last peter out. Only then does he step away from Cas to help his brother up.  
  
"Thanks," says Sam, grabbing Dean's proffered hand. He brushes himself off and then they follow Cas back through the tunnels.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
There's enough work between Colorado and Arizona to keep them occupied for the next week, but then they need to start planning for the next ritual. As much as it rankles to take Ruby's advice there's not really a better choice, so they take time to add nuance to their attack in hopes of confounding the demons once more.  
  
"The most important thing is your dampening spell," says Dean. "If we can stop them from using their magic against us, that's going to give us a chance. If they get us before then, we're toast."  
  
"I will see how big a range that can cover," says Cas. "If we could find some demons to test it on, that would help."  
  
"Shouldn't be a problem," says Dean. Demon activity hasn't exactly been at a low lately, even with so many tied up in the rituals. The demons they run into elsewhere don't seem to be personally involved, but always have their share of taunts on the subject before he, Sam, and Cas manage to send them back to Hell.  
  
"You're sure your shield is gonna hold up through the attack?" asks Sam. "Ruby said the demons had noted it as a weakness. If you get taken down..."  
  
"There is no better choice," says Castiel. "I have to be onsite to be able to cast the spell. There is no other way for me to keep myself safe—it's impossible to wield a sword and do complex spellwork at the same time."  
  
"Well then stick close to us, for backup," says Dean. "You can warn me, or whatever, if something gets close to you." It's not the best plan they've ever made, but it's about as good as they're going to get with this.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Since there's a demon ritual about to happen, there are anticipatory swarms of demons popping up all around the place. It's a phenomenon Castiel had failed to share with them before the other rituals because they needed things to proceed as they were; now, though, Cas needs to figure out how far his magic can stretch. As soon as he senses a group they pile into the Impala and Dean follows his directions down the highway.  
  
Cas tries to cast his spell five miles off but it doesn't work that far; it doesn't even do anything when they're a mile away. After a day of driving into increasingly sketchy locations so Cas can get a shot at them, they've found out that the range of his magic is around a quarter of a mile.  
  
"Let's try one more time," says Cas from the passenger seat. "Let me try another variation. If I know where to target I should be able to cast it further—"  
  
"Dude," says Dean, "you're almost falling asleep up here. I think you need food, and then sleep."  
  
"One more," Cas insists, leaning his head against the window.  
  
"No," says Dean, turning off the bumpy gravel road on to something that's actually paved. "We're going to get dinner."  
  
"And then one more try."  
  
"And _then_ you're going to sleep. If this were all just for fun I wouldn't have a problem with it, but you've gotta be ready to do this for real tomorrow. You can't do that if you're still exhausted from your experiments today. A quarter of a mile is more than good enough."  
  
"No it's not," says Cas, barely stifling a yawn. "They'll know we're coming for them, and there's not a varied enough route for us to avoid traps."  
  
"Then we'll keep our eyes peeled. You have some sort of demon radar, right? Use it."  
  
Cas is silent during dinner and doesn't say much before retiring to bed. Dean isn't sure if he should feel guilty or not—he's just looking out for the guy, after all—but stays quiet just in case. He wishes he could lighten the mood but he can't think of a way to because frankly, they're about to attack a group of demons who may or may not be lying in wait to kill them all. At this point, the only thing for them to do is hope they'll be okay.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The attack goes about as expected. Cas was right about the demons being prepared for them, but the trap they've set is far beyond any perimeter Cas could hold with his magic. He can, however, sense that there's danger approaching and they manage to take out the demons without any hassle. Cas keeps glancing at the map and his phone's GPS as they bump down the unpaved road; as soon as he calculates that they're close enough, he starts with his spells. It's always weird to hear them in an enclosed space because despite the fact that the magic is aimed toward the ritual site, its power seems to build up and reverberate within the Impala. Dean feels heady with its effects, almost as if the power it's locking out of reach of the demons is begin transferred to him.  
  
Between the trap and Cas' spells, the demons obviously know they're coming. Cas barely gets through their blood ritual before they're into the fray and Dean finds himself falling into the rhythm of it again, lunge-duck-swipe-retreat as the demons flock toward him, Sam, and Cas. Cas, true to his word, sticks close to them and Dean can hear his spell taking root amid the yelling and taunting of the demons. Unlike the spell earlier, the one in the car, this one doesn't wrap itself around him quite so nicely: something about it feels dark and brittle. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that it's meant to bind demon kings, but it still gives him pause. Or it would, but the next moment a demon almost takes his nose off and he retaliates by slitting her throat and watching the blood spray out in a spiral as she falls away.  
  
Sam is doing better about staying close this time, and though Dean loses sight of him for almost a minute, he appears again covered in demon blood but looking okay himself. They do their best to stay on opposite sides of Cas; the demons might not want them dead for whatever reason, but Dean expects they'd kill Cas in an instant if they had the chance.  
  
Dean's not sure how long the spell takes because he's always been too busy fighting off demons to time it, but he can see the fire jumping every few seconds at Cas' words, licks of flame that glow different colors and send plumes of smoke into the sky. The smell of it nearly gags him. He doesn't want to know the contents of a demonic ritual fire, but sulfur wafts through the air and the smoke thickens and nothing about that seems like a good sign to him. Even when he was so close to the flames last time he doesn't remember it being anything like this. He almost considers asking Cas, but hesitates because what if they can't redo this later and something bad comes of it? So he keeps fighting and watching the flames and Cas finishes the spell a few moments later, right as Sam hacks the head off a demon that Dean didn't even see approaching.  
  
Spell done, Cas pulls out his sword to join in the fight. That thing is wicked, Dean notices as he watches it flash threateningly through the ranks around them. The demons start to fall back but Cas doesn't let them, drives them back toward the circle. From there it's just a matter of lining them up and taking them out because they seem to have given up the fight, for which Dean is grateful but also a tad confused. It doesn't matter, he tells himself, as long as they're all dead. The last one just laughs as she finds herself impaled on Sam's knife, and then the demon roars out of the girl's mouth.  
  
"I'm gonna double-check the perimeter," says Sam, tucking the knife back into his belt. "Be right back."  
  
Dean waves him off gratefully because he's not sure how his brother still has so much energy—personally, Dean's breathing hard enough that he feels like he's punctured a lung. Other than that he just has a few scratches, nothing serious, so he heads over to make sure Cas is okay.  
  
"You okay?" he says, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks more tired than anything else and Dean hopes they can get back to the motel before he passes out.  
  
Cas nods. "Tired. One of them—the back of my neck. Am I bleeding?"  
  
Sure enough there's a red line soaking into the collar of Cas' trench coat. "Let me look at that," Dean says, tugging Cas around so he can see the wound by the light of the fire. The cut deeper than it had first looked, dammit, and good thing they have first aid in the car.  
  
Dean's about to relocate them there when Cas grips his wrist. "Dean," he says in that tone of voice that means that whatever's following isn't going to be good, "look."  
  
Dean follows Cas' gaze down to the ground and at first he thinks the demons have somehow reanimated the bodies until he realizes that it's just their shed blood moving, filling in a shallow series of glyphs scratched into the hard ground. The slow red ooze reeks of magic. Dean doesn't know much about magic, but he suspects the glyhps form some sort of counter spell because the air is feeling thicker and more volatile, and he's suddenly not sure if they've managed to stop anything at all, tonight.  
  
"Sam," he yells, backing up quickly from the still-filling circles of glyphs that seem to be radiating out from the fire. "Sammy, let's go."  
  
"Dean, are you okay?" asks Sam, appearing once more from behind him, and then he sees what they're staring at. "Oh, shit," he says. "Shit. What's that—"  
  
"I can't read it," says Cas. "But we can't stay. If this is some sort of demon magic, I'm not familiar with it, and we're in no shape to deal with it on our own."  
  
Sam pulls out his phone to snap a couple of pictures and then they backtrack out of the circle fast. Dean throws the Impala into reverse as soon as the last door has been slammed shut. He's never made such good time down a gravel road before and it's damn lucky no one's seriously hurt, because the jolting certainly wouldn't help them. As it is, he's going to owe Baby a good wash and perhaps an alignment after they get out of this mess.  
  
They finally hit the highway and Dean looks back, doesn't see anything explosive happening back where they were, and hopes that means that everything's okay. Maybe the glyphs had been a part of all the rituals and they'd already counteracted them, maybe they were used earlier in the ritual and showed up when the demons who had written them were dead, maybe—  
  
Cas is muttering something in the back seat and Dean glances into the rearview mirror, sees him with a hand clasped over his neck where it had been bleeding earlier. "Cas, you good?"  
  
"Fine," grits out Cas. "Just trying to make this stop bleeding. The demons seem to have upgraded their weapons since last time."  
  
Dean curses again and urges Baby faster down the road, speeding through the inky night alone.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When they finally get a chance to look at the wound under real light and in a controlled environment, it doesn't look any different: just a small knife cut, perhaps a bit deeper than most, but nothing that should be causing this amount of trouble. Problem is, it's still bleeding after forty minutes and according to Cas there's not even any magic that can fix it.  
  
"Right," says Dean. "You ever have stitches before?"  
  
Cas mutely shakes his head.  
  
"Well, it's gonna hurt. Don't bite your tongue off." Sam passes him everything he needs from the med kit and Dean threads the needle, takes a drink of whiskey to keep his hands steady and then passes the bottle to Cas.  
  
The first stitch sees Cas' fingers tighten on the back of the motel chair, but aside from that he shows no reaction. Dean gets through the rest of them as quickly as he can and Cas remains silent throughout.  
  
"There," says Dean, finishing the last one. "That should work. You okay still?"  
  
"Yes," says Cas, breathing out heavily and grabbing the bottle of whiskey for another swallow. "I believe so." He turns around and leans back against the desk with the whiskey in hand; Dean cleans up and then comes back to join him.  
  
"You got any clue what they hit you with?" he asks, bumping Cas' shoulder with his own.  
  
Cas shakes his head, careful to not stretch the stitches too much. "I've never heard of such powers among demons. Of course, I do not come across them nearly as often as you do, but every bit of information we gather is carefully catalogued."  
  
"You got any ideas? I mean, demons have some sort of powers too, right?"  
  
"They have some magic, but from what we can tell it is not the same as ours," says Castiel. "The language they use is a similar base but different in quite a few ways. I do not know what limitations it may have, though it seems to be less powerful than Enochian."  
  
"So...."  
  
"We have enchanted blades," says Cas, pulling his sword out of its sheath. A film of blood still edges the blade and Cas mutters a few words to make it melt away. "This blade deflects most demon magics, and also serves as a...routing device for my 'demon radar', if you will."  
  
"Is that why it glows?" asks Dean.  
  
Cas nods. "That is a symptom of the enchantments placed upon it, yes. They can sense it, which is why they fear it. But I saw no sign of enchantment on any of the weapons brought by the demons, which is why this wound is most...perplexing."  
  
Dean reaches for the whiskey, takes another swig once Cas hands it to him. "We'll figure it out," he says. "Maybe it had to do with that weird-ass writing on the ground."  
  
"I will ask Uriel. Perhaps he knows."  
  
Dean hopes that Uriel doesn't know because the dude's as much of a douche as Zachariah, even if he's a bit less slimy about it. "We should get some sleep."  
  
"Not until I know that I am okay," says Cas, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open.  
  
Dean checks Castiel's neck, which seems to have stopped bleeding. "You're fine," he says. "You could tell if there was some magic that carried over, couldn't you?"  
  
"I should be able to. But my senses are not at their best."  
  
"Yeah, because you need _sleep_." Dean removes the bottle of whiskey from Cas' hand and caps it. "Go on, we'll be right next door if anything happens."  
  
Cas straightens up but doesn't move, just stares at Dean from too close with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Thank you," he says.  
  
"Uh, yeah, any time Cas."  
  
Cas nods once then steps around Dean and exits the room, carefully closing the door behind him. On his bed, Sam is overcome with a violent coughing fit.  
  
"I'm going to take a shower," says Dean.  
  
"Don't take too long."  
  
Dean nods, and steps into the bathroom. The shower beats down on him, hot, and washes away all the blood and dirt and other debris of battle.


	5. Chapter 5

They settle into a rhythm after that, he and Sam and Cas. Cas is full of random bits of information that save Dean from having to research anything, and he has a sharp eye that's helped more than once on a hunt. The only area he doesn't excel in is killing monsters.  
  
"We gotta get you a gun," Dean says after they take out a banshee in Wyoming, "and teach you how to use it.  
  
"Our centers have shooting ranges," Castiel replies.  
  
"Uh huh," says Dean. "And you used them?"  
  
"I have in the past," says Cas. "Hunting requires a great deal more violence than I am used to."  
  
"And yet you know how to kill things with a sword." Not that Dean's knocking the swordplay. Truth be told, it's pretty badass.  
  
"We all have our hobbies," says Cas with a small smile. But later that evening he does snag one of Dean's guns and take it apart, as if to prove that he's not useless.  
  
"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see you shoot one," Dean teases. Distaste for violence or no, Cas ought to be prepared if he's going to accompany them on hunts.  
  
"Until I met you, I had never imagined actually needing a gun," Cas confesses  
  
"Well, now you know why you do," says Dean. "Useful skill, even for nerds. Right, Sammy?"  
  
"Uh huh," says Sam, a response which means _I'm reading, don't interrupt me._ Dean's sure that if Sam had been paying attention he would have gotten flipped off for his trouble.  
  
"I suppose." Cas looks thoughtful. "Though from what I have seen of the hunting life, I think I prefer to spend time with my books."  
  
Dean doesn't blame him for that but he can't the disappointment that rushes through him. Much as he hates to admit it, Cas' magic has been useful these past few weeks.  
  
"I think I understand what hunting is for you now, though," Cas continues. "It is not a perfect lifestyle, but it is your lifestyle. You like being able to help."  
  
"Yeah," says Dean. "Yeah, I do."  
  
"That is honorable, Dean. Not many people in your situation would say the same."  
  
Dean shrugs, unsure how to respond to that. "You took some pledge about helping people, too," he points out.  
  
Cas nods. "And yet, I feel like this is the first time I've actually come close to fulfilling it. It is gratifying to see the direct impact of your works."  
  
"It keeps you going," says Dean, because it does, when you don't have much else. And hunters never do.  
  
"I can't help but think it would be good for my brothers and sisters to see things as you do," Cas continues. "Some of them seem to have forgotten, in all our rules and restrictions, what it is like to be a part of this world. We have turned inward too much since losing contact with the hunters."  
  
Dean smiles at that. "You're not too bad yourself," he says to Cas. "Hell, a couple a' hunters I know could learn something from meeting you."  
  
"I doubt my superiors would much like that."  
  
"Do they like anything you do anymore?" asks Dean.  
  
"Not so much," says Cas. "I will have to face them again, sometime. I do not look forward to it."  
  
"Hey." Dean leans forward, catches Cas' eye. "They give you hell, you come to us, okay? If they can't deal with the consequences of what they started that's not on you."  
  
"It is on me," says Cas sadly. "Pay it no mind. I will deal with it when I must." And he says no more on the subject for the rest of the night.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"You don't need to go back to Denver again, do you?" Dean asks as they head out after the hunt, already dreading the answer.  
  
"I believe Salt Lake will be a better choice," says Cas. "It is closer to our destination, and I think it would be best to steer clear of Uriel for the time being."  
  
"So who's in Salt Lake, then?" asks Dean. "Someone nice?"  
  
"Raphael."  
  
"And is he..."  
  
"I do not believe you will like him any better than the rest of my brothers," Cas answers. "Raphael has little sense of humor, and a high sense of morality. If he does insist on meeting you I doubt it will bring anything positive."  
  
"Then let's hope he doesn't," says Dean.  
  
"Hey Cas, the 'brothers' talk—obviously you're not related to everyone?" asks Sam.  
  
"No, though membership in the Men of Letters was largely determined by bloodline. It is...an honorific, I suppose."  
  
"So just tradition." Like everything else in the organization, apparently.  
  
"Yes," says Cas. "Well, not entirely. The bonds we share are indeed familial, though over an extended network."  
  
"I dunno, Cas," says Dean. "Those guys don't support you. That seem like family to you?"  
  
"We have our disagreements, yes," says Cas. "But we have fought together, all of us, and sacrificed much for our cause. Our bond may not be on the terms you expect, but it exists still, and I dislike arguing with them."  
  
"It'd be a lot nicer if some of them would listen to you," says Dean, but he points them toward Salt Lake without further discussion.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Raphael does not wish to meet them. Dean is okay with this fact; Cas seems somewhat unnerved.  
  
"I had thought he would be eager to impress upon you the importance of your mission," he says with a slight frown. "Perhaps he has more important matters to attend to. Raphael's rank is much higher than mine, or even Zachariah or Uriel's."  
  
"'S fine if he doesn't want to lecture us," says Dean. "Sam and I can get by on our own."  
  
"It may be a long meeting. I need to inquire about the etchings we saw at the last ritual. Raphael is much more educated than me; he may understand them.."  
  
"That's all right, Cas," says Sam. "We— _I_ —want to know about them, too."  
  
"No hunting while I am not around," says Cas.  
  
"I wasn't—" Dean begins, but stops at the look in Cas' eyes. "Fine," he says. "No hunting."  
  
However, "no hunting" is not quite the same as "no looking for a hunt" so he and Sam head to the library to see what they can dig up in the area. After fifteen minutes of clicking through the news archives, Dean excuses himself to call Bobby.  
  
It's been awhile since they last talked—too long, probably, with everything that's going on. Dean gives him a quick rundown of everything that's happened since.  
  
"You still ain't figured out anything about the rituals, I suppose," says Bobby.  
  
"No sign of a person behind them, if that's what you mean," says Dean. "Other than that...it's just demon magic, Bobby."  
  
Bobby huffs, but seems satisfied with his answer. When Dean asks him if there are any hunts in the area he promises to keep an eye out.  
  
"You still working with that Man of Letters, then?" Bobby asks, right before Dean hangs up.  
  
"Who, Cas?" says Dean. "Yeah. Yeah, he's cool."  
  
"Huh. Well you boys be careful, then." And Bobby hangs up.  
  
Dean heads back in to Sam, who's still contentedly researching. "Bobby got anything?" he asks as Dean approaches.  
  
Dean shakes his head. "You?"  
  
"Guess the Men of Letters have kept it pretty clean around here," says Sam. "We'll just move out, once Cas is back. I'm sure something will turn up nearby."  
  
Cas texts them a couple hours later and they head back over to pick him up.  
  
"Everything okay?" Dean asks as he slides into the Impala.  
  
"Fine," says Cas. "I have the spell. Raphael could not decode the sigils we saw but has passed them on to others who might be able to. He wants me to stay here for the duration of the translation."  
  
"And?" Dean asks.  
  
"I told him I had other places to be. He was displeased."  
  
"He didn't try to stop you, did he?" asks Sam.  
  
"No," says Cas. "But I would prefer to leave Salt Lake, all the same."  
  
That's enough for Dean, so he guns the motor, takes them out of the city.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Two weeks pass a lot faster when you spend them hunting, and next thing Dean knows he's heading back to northwest Utah for the fourth ritual. The easy camaraderie that had characterized their hunts hardens into something more tense. Dean senses Cas retreating into his magic and eventually gives up on trying to engage him in conversation. It's not like they were gonna be friends, anyway, because Cas will leave them as soon as those rituals are done so he can go back to living it up with the Men of Letters. Best to put it out of his mind.  
  
Dean's not in the best of moods either, though he tries to hide it. Fact is, he's still plenty freaked about what happened the last time. Sam is obviously worried too, and Cas has spent the last three nights poring over Sam's pictures of the glyphs in vain hope that something would let him in on their secret. But neither he nor Raphael's contacts have gotten a handle on them. Cas swears there are parts missing from the glyphs and Dean hopes that's all there is, because maybe tonight they'll be able to get a fuller picture and then they'll finally, finally know what they're up against.  
  
"Be careful" was the only advice Uriel had given them when Cas checked in with him briefly, and Dean had wanted to steal the phone and reply _yeah, thanks, asshat, we weren't planning to_. He didn't do it—aside from Sam's constant work at being a good influence on him, he doesn't want to jeopardize Cas' position with the Men of Letters any more than he already has. Not that he feels guilty as a whole, since the Men of Letters have been holding out on them since the beginning of this thing. But Dean knows that none of that's on Cas.  
  
Cas, as a matter of fact, has been nothing but helpful lately. After the last ritual he'd started enchanting their weapons to the extent that he could. Dean's blade has some spell on it that will help cut through a demon's power, or something. The explanation Cas had given was a bit above Dean's paygrade in that it sounded a little like quantum physics. Sam had looked fascinated and asked a lot of questions, Dean had just nodded along and thanked him afterward. Now, he's curious to see how his upgraded arsenal will perform.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Once they have everything they need they slide into the Impala and get on the road. Sam is silent on the ride up, staring out the window instead of at Dean. Cas, of course, has spells to focus on. From what he'd told Dean about his training with the Men of Letters, he'd trained to cast spells in a controlled environment rather than in a battle situation. Dean, for his part, thinks that's a dumb training plan that reflects the Men of Letters' reluctance to do anything that's actually helpful. But it is what it is and Cas is doing his best. At least there haven't been any demons let out of Hell on their watch.  
  
Because Cas is a perfectionist, he'd spent the past three weeks trying to tweak his spellwork so he could incapacitate the demons from further out. He'd gotten his range up to a half a mile instead of a quarter, and though Dean thinks it's overkill, Cas' adjustment up saving their asses yet again. The demons have apparently decided that then ten-mile ambush is too far away to do any real good and instead wait to jump the Impala until it's closer to the ritual site—right as Cas has started his spell.  
  
Dean swears and pulls over so he can get out and _fight_ because it's just not fair otherwise, Sam aims out the window with his shotgun, and Cas ducks down in the back seat, probably in hopes of finishing his spell before he's killed or otherwise interrupted. But there's five demons and two Winchesters, and only one of the groups has magic on their side at the moment. The battle is dangerously skewed in the demons' favor.  
  
Dean's trying to figure out if he can keep Sam safe while Cas finishes his spell, but it's looking less likely by the minute. From behind him, Sam shouts a phrase that almost sounds Enochian, and suddenly every demon (including the one he'd been about to stab) is blasted back and pinned flat to the ground.  
  
"The fuck," says Dean glancing back toward Sam.  
  
"Go," says Sam, "Ruby says it won't last forever."  
  
Of course it's Ruby. Dean pulls out his gun and applies himself to making sure that the bodies will be uninhabitable by the time they're capable of moving again. Whatever Sam did doesn't last for long, though; the last body Dean has to take care of starts to stand up and Dean quickly gets him in the chest once, twice with iron bullets. The wound crackles a bright orange before the demon is expelled from the body.  
  
"That," says Dean, breathing hard, "was close."  
  
"Yeah," says Sam from behind him. "Thank God for Ru—"  
  
"What was that." Cas steps out of the car and walks over to inspect the bodies, lying vacant on the ground. "I thought that demon was no longer helping you."  
  
Sam shrugs. "She just doesn't like to come by when you're around. But she's still on our side."  
  
Cas looks around for her, but she's already gone. "We will talk about this later," he says unhappily. "Right now we need to get to the site of the ritual."  
  
They pile back into the Impala and Dean urges her down the road toward whatever locale the demons have picked for their next attempt at raising the kings.  
  
Demons surround them as soon as they arrive and it's all Sam and Dean can do to keep them back while Cas gets started on his spell. Dean's really thinking he needs to learn how to fight with two blades at once because it would do a hell of a lot of good in situations like this. Cas could probably teach him, if his skill with a sword is any indication of the skills he's picked up from the Men of Letters.  
  
Dean's beginning to question Cas' spell again, because even though he _says_ it's good, what else could be making the air thicker and hotter? The clearing smells like sulfur again, the air weighed down with the demons' foul intent. Either they've found a way to counteract the Men of Letters' magic or Cas' spell just isn't working because this is the kind of feel you get just before raising a powerful demon, Dean is sure of it. If the look of panic is Cas' eyes is anything to go by, he's noticing it too; he's speaking loudly and carefully enunciating each word like that will make some sort of a difference against whatever counter-magic the demons are performing.  
  
The demons are certainly fighting with more energy; Dean goes in to stab a particularly persistent one and gets a nick in his wrist for his trouble. It hisses and stings and he swears at the demon who gave it to him, takes advantage of her gasp of laughter to plunge his knife straight into her chest and twist it . She staggers back, blood dripping out of the wound, and another demon moves forward to take her place.  
  
This time when Cas finishes his spell the flames leap fifteen feet into the night and give off a loud crack, and there's not a being in the circle that doesn't notice. Many of the demons look back in fear and Dean, Sam, and Cas take the opportunity to relieve them of several important body parts. Demon blood literally washes over their boots and fuck, that's another pair for the trash. They're on a roll and the demons seem to have give up their energy from before, like they know it's time for them to die.  
  
"This is not normal behavior," notes Cas. "Something is wrong here."  
  
Dean thinks that actually, _everything_ is wrong here since they're involved in a ritual that's supposed to raise some Big, Important demons that are probably going to want to kill all of humanity. But this little kind of wrong, where they get to get rid of all the demons and stop a ritual, isn't something he's going to complain about.  
  
"Look," says Cas, and bending down to ground level. Dean would rather not be face-to-face with dead demons, but that's not what Cas is looking at. Once again, the ground is revealing patterns of glyphs as they are filled by blood, and Cas looks determined to figure them out. The fire is still making freaky crackling noises in the background and though that could just be natural, Dean's inclined to think it's not. Sam's nowhere to be seen, presumably securing the perimeter again, and Dean wishes he would hurry up and return.  
  
"Any luck?" he asks Castiel, who's still down at eye-level with the ground. He's hoping this doesn't take long, because he has the feeling that they should split as soon as Sam returns.  
  
"They're not completely filled," says Cas. "That was our problem last time, why the picture didn't make sense. The full glyphs were cut off. We have to wait."  
  
Given that they're at a ritual site, Dean would really rather not. "Look, Cas," he says, "You want to know what's going on, fine, but here? Things seems a little dangerous."  
  
"It should not be. We purified it with our spell, and the battle."  
  
"You're sure of that."  
  
"No." Cas shifts nervously. "It feels wrong. But nothing we can do at this point will make it safer, but we need to know all we can."  
  
"You just said there was nothing we could do," says Dean.  
  
"Because we do not know enough," says Cas, turning around to face him. "The more we can find out, the more likely it is that Uriel or Zachariah or Raphael will be able to help us."  
  
"Fine. Just—hurry it, will you?" Dean grips his knife tighter. "I thought we were trying to stay out of danger."  
  
"The message is almost writ," says Castiel. "I—" he goes silent, eyes moving over the glyphs that now form a series of concentric circles beneath their feet. They look menacing, filled as they are by demon blood, and the expression on Cas' face isn't filling Dean with a lot of hope.  
  
"Sam," he says, looking toward the scrub, because that's where Sam should be. "Sam! Dammit."  
  
"Dean," says Cas, catching his arm, "I need to record this and then—"  
  
"I'm gonna get Sam," he says, setting off at a jog. Most of the desert landscape is flat but Sam has to be out there somewhere.  
  
"Dean, we need to go," says Cas from behind him. But Cas knows him better than that by this point, and after a few moments Dean hears him jogging to catch up.  
  
"Sam!" yells Dean one last time, pushing through the thick scrub barrier growing around the back of the ritual clearing. "Sammy!"  
  
He thinks he hears a whooshing noise that sounds so familiar but can't quite place it. He fights his way through the brush and up a hill and looks down to see Sam bent over Ruby's body, choking over the demon swirling out of his mouth and into hers.  
  
He can't speak. Can't move for a moment because there's _no fucking way_ Sam took Ruby up on her dumb-ass offer, even if it meant he could be a better fighter, even if he thought it would help them in some way. They'd _talked_ about this dammit, and realized that you couldn't trust a demon; and besides, who the hell would let a demon possess them willingly.  
  
Cas grabs onto Dean's sleeve, maybe out of surprise or maybe to remind Dean that they have to go, and Dean croaks, "Sam."  
  
Ruby's made her way back into her usual body and Sam looks up, shocked to see them as Dean was to find him like this. "I can explain—" he starts, but Dean doesn't fucking want to hear it.  
  
"Get in the car," he says. "We have to go."  
  
Sam says nothing as they cross over the ritual site once more, stays silent as he slides into the front seat of the Impala.  
  
Dean turns the key and drives.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They stay in the car, on the road all night. It's a silent drive: Cas speaks up once on the way back to the motel to advise that they leave town, but says nothing else. Dean agrees; he doesn't want to let Sam out of his goddamned _sight_ right now because Ruby could come back at any minute, maybe possess him for good this time. Cas seems to be in the same frame of mind. Though he says nothing about it, he keeps shooting Sam suspicious looks; it doesn't take Dean long to figure out that Cas thinks his kid brother is going to completely betray them. Between the two of them and the fact that he's not gotten near enough sleep the past few nights, Dean's in a terrible mood.  
  
Cas is awake in the backseat, but only barely; Sam's pretending to sleep against the window, but Dean can see him blinking his red-rimmed eyes; and dammit, Dean doesn't want to deal with this. He drives them through the night, only stopping five towns over in front of a diner that's just opened up its doors for the day.  
  
"Good morning," says a cheery older woman as Dean tugs open the door and the bells on it jingle happily. "My, you're out early today."  
  
Dean tries for a smile but it gets stuck somewhere in his throat. "I bet you boys would like some coffee," the woman says, scurrying back into the kitchen. Dean sinks down in the nearest booth and rests his face in his hands. He feels Sam slide in next to him and Cas opposite, just like old times, except now nothing is going right. The waitress comes back with three menus and three mugs of steaming coffee and Dean grabs onto his gratefully, sipping the liquid even though it scalds going down, because it gives him something to hold on to.  
  
"Dean," says Sam next to him, but he holds up a hand.  
  
"Not right now," he says. "Not—fuck, Sam, save it. I just. I." _Can't have this discussion now, here, ever._ Dean doesn't even know what he's going to say because he imagines Sam thought he had some damn good reasons for doing what he did. Kid always does.  
  
Sam looks away from him across the empty diner. Across the table Cas is shooting him a look that's either sympathetic or judgmental and is too fucking much to handle at the moment. Dean keeps his eyes trained on his coffee while the woman bustles around in the background, waiting for them to be ready to order.  
  
Sam picks up the menu and looks at the breakfast options and Dean's left sitting beside him with no idea how to act. He eventually follows suit but his eyes won't seem to focus on the words, just keep scanning over them and Dean spends the next five minutes staring at the little pictures of eggs, bacon, and waffles with smiley faces and trying to figure out where he went wrong.  
  
He manages to get his throat unstuck enough to order the first thing he sees when the waitress returns; after that, he reverts into silent mode. The arrival of the food gives him a reason not to speak and he starts in on it without noticing what he's eating. Every once in a while he'll look up and be met with Cas' gaze but he doesn't want _pity_ , doesn't even deserve that right now, so he does his best to keep his eyes to the table.  
  
Sam excuses himself to go to the bathroom after he finishes and then it's just Dean and Cas sitting there and the silence is suddenly far more unbearable. Dean's about to excuse himself to go outside or something, but before he can think of a good enough reason to ditch out, Cas says "Dean" and makes an abortive move to reach out to him over the table and he knows he's stuck.  
  
"I don't wanna talk about it," he says.  
  
"I will not ask you to," says Cas. "But we _will_ find a way through this. I do not plan to leave you to deal with this on your own."  
  
Dean laughs except it comes out a bit more like a choke. "Sure," he says. "And Uriel won't be down our throats, all of us, as soon as you report back to him."  
  
Cas looks down at the table. "Even when I do not say anything, he will know. He is—that explains why I kept sensing demon involvement."  
  
"Shut up," says Dean.  
  
"I did not mean to—"  
  
"Shut _up_." And Cas falls silent, looks down at the table sadly. Almost immediately Dean feels bad because this sure as hell isn't Cas' fault, so he mutters a "sorry" and then goes for his coffee again.  
  
By the time Sam makes it back from the bathroom they've settled the bill and Dean gets up, walks out to the Impala again, ready to keep driving. He rubs the heaviness out of his eyes and turns a deaf ear to Sam's protests about the fact that he needs sleep, turning back onto the highway. He doesn't need to add any more nightmares to this mess.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They stop to fuel up at a barely-there town and Dean runs into the gas station to grab some food because both Sam and Cas have dozed off. He eats a shitty burger and washes it down with a cup of shittier coffee, to keep himself awake. A bag of snacks goes into the backseat next to Cas and then he takes off again. By the time mid-afternoon rolls around Dean's eyes are feeling gritty like they do when he's less than an hour away from a crash, so he pulls off at the next exit and parks in front of a beaten-down motel.  
  
He gets them three motel rooms partially because he doesn't feel like having it out with Sam just yet and partially because he needs some time to clear his goddamn head. He wakes Sam and Cas up enough to give them their keys, grabs his duffel, lets himself into his room, and collapses on his bed without so much as taking off his boots.  
  
That doesn't last for long because he has to piss, and as long as he's up he figures he might as well take off his boots and get rid of his jeans and tee because he's fairly certain there are traces of demon on them still. He forgoes the shower and instead passes out for a good five hours. He only wakes up then because someone is knocking on his door and saying " _Dean_ " in a very insistent voice and dammit, Cas, he could have used another few hours.  
  
"Hang on," he says roughly, pulling on a clean shirt and a pair of pants. He scrubs his hand over his face to rub his tiredness away.  
  
When he answers the door he finds Cas there with some consolatory pizza and beer. "Hey," he says; then, because he's not a total douche (or at least he's working on it), "you wanna come in?"  
  
Cas steps across the threshold into his room. They don't say much while they eat but Cas leans against the desk next to him, maybe a little closer than he would normally be. It's comfortable. Cas acts like he doesn't notice their shoulders brushing whenever Dean shifts, and Dean doesn't make anything of it because he doesn't it to be weird. Cas is the odd bastion of stability that Dean never expected to need so sorely.  
  
"I have not contacted Uriel yet," Cas says finally, quietly, when they're down to an empty box and a couple of bottles left in the six-pack. "I will need to speak to him in the next few days, though."  
  
Dean nods. "Then what."  
  
"I do not know." Cas avoids meeting his eyes. "I was not lying when told you I do not plan to leave. We must finish the rituals. It does not seem that Sam's behavior has hurt us in any way—" and here Dean's fist clenches around the bottle he's holding "—but as I mentioned before, it will be impossible for me to conceal the truth from Uriel when we meet him."  
  
Dean nods. There's not anything he can say, really.  
  
"For what it's worth, Dean, I am sorry." Cas lays a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Do not blame yourself for this."  
  
Dean shrugs his hand off. He doesn't need Cas' words because Cas doesn't know what's going on, doesn't understand him and Sammy because they're not the family he grew up with. "Your Men of Letters," he says, at last. "What will they say when they find out."  
  
"They will not be pleased." Cas drops his eyes to the floor. "I cannot predict exactly what—" he swallows heavily. "They will want Sam to stop. They will demand that you or I stop him."  
  
Dean nods. "And if—"  
  
"If Sam insists on continuing as he is, I do not know how they will respond. We still need your blood at the ritual sites. Sam must be with us, for that. I have the feeling that you would not help were he not by your side, either."  
  
Dean nods.  
  
"Anti-possession spells are a possibility, but they can be broken."  
  
"Could Ruby....?"  
  
"No. She would not be powerful enough on her own. She could fight it, and hope to wear down the caster until they removed it."  
  
"So you couldn't do it, since you have to save your juice for the rituals," Dean guesses. While he trusts Cas to put the right spell on his brother, he's not sure he can say the same for any of the other Men of Letters they've met.  
  
"Correct. We would need to get someone else to do the spell." Castiel hesitates before he continues. "The Men of Letters do not take well to disobedience. I have no problems facing the consequences for any wrongdoings of mine, but Sam..."  
  
Dean's not really surprised by this fact. He remembers Cas' previous mentions of facing punishment for daring to travel with them as they performed the rituals. He doesn't think he wants to know what the consequences are for larger missteps. "They would do that? How?"  
  
"It's hard to say. Spells used to bend someone completely to your will do not exist, to our knowledge. That skill belongs to demons alone. But there are spells that can incapacitate a person, completely."  
  
Dean shakes his head. "No. No way."  
  
"I would not support such a choice either," Cas assures him. "But you need to know what the possibilities are."  
  
"Okay," says Dean. "I know. How do we avoid them?"  
  
"There may not be a way. We cannot avoid my brothers forever. They will track us down if we do not go to them and the consequences would almost undoubtedly be worse." Dean has nothing to say to that because of course that's not what he wants. He wants the Men of Letters to stop interfering with his life. "We will think of something, Dean," Cas adds.  
  
Dean nods. They'll have to, and soon.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Any surety he'd felt the night before disappears as Dean drags himself out of bed the next morning. He knows he can't put off talking to Sam any longer, and as much as he doesn't want to have this conversation, it has to be done. Not before sustenance, though.  
  
He heads out to get food and, on second thought, detours to Cas' room to check in with him. Cas looks as tired as Dean feels but he still offers to accompany Dean on his breakfast run.  
  
Dean might not have agreed had he known that Cas would spend the whole time giving him sympathetic looks. He doesn't want sympathy, doesn't need it. He also doesn't need a reminder of what he has to do once they make it back to the motel so he carefully sidesteps Cas' attempts to get him to talk about what's going on. Though Cas may be socially inept when it comes to small talk, he catches on quickly and stops bringing it up. Unfortunately, that leaves them with little else to talk about—Dean can't find another topic of conversation that seems suitable for the moment—and the silence is almost worse.  
  
Cas says nothing once they get back to the hotel, just disappears into his room with his food and coffee. Dean grudgingly climbs out of the Impala and knocks on Sam's door. "Breakfast," he says, like that will fool Sam for even a minute. But Sam lets him in (of course he does) and they settle down to eat.  
  
"So," Dean says, after he's made it through the first burrito and therefore has enough food in his system that he's up to dealing with...well, something. "You wanna explain why you thought it would be a good idea to let Ruby posses you?"  
  
Sam swallows, loud. "I just—she was saving us, Dean. She was saving _you_."  
  
"Like hell she was," Dean grates. "How many times do I gotta say it, Sam. She's a _demon_."  
  
"I know, but Dean, just. Listen. You saw what the rituals are like, how many demons show up. Together, Ruby and I can take down twice as many. And after what happened to you the first time, I thought—"  
  
"The _first time_?" Dean can't believe what he's hearing. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
"But that's the _point_ , Dean, you didn't even know because she's not doing anything bad—"  
  
"Don't, Sammy." says Dean. "I cannot believe you."  
  
Sam falls silent, eyes threatening to tear up at any moment. They stand there staring at one another for a few minutes until Dean grunts out "fine;" says "say whatever you have to say, then."  
  
"I—Dean, look, I'm sorry but I just wanted to make sure you were okay," says Sam. "I know you don't like Ruby but she's doing everything she can to help us and if you would just be _open_ to it—"  
  
"C'mon, Sam, when have demons _ever_ been good news—"  
  
"And since when did we work with anyone who wasn't Bobby, or one of his contacts? Since when did we rely on magic to get a job done?" asks Sam. "Things are changing, Dean. I'm just trying to keep us on top."  
  
"I think I'd rather handle this on my own, thanks," says Dean. "Especially if the only other option is _Ruby_." He turns around and storms out the door, other breakfast burrito completely forgotten.  
  
" _Dean_ —" Sam calls after him, but Dean ignores it and slides into Baby, ready to take a long drive.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Sam's waiting for him when he gets back, of course, because they still haven't finished their heart-to-heart. This time Dean doesn't say anything, just waits for Sam to speak on his own.  
  
"I'm sorry," says Sam. "Not for working with Ruby, but for not telling you."  
  
"Not good enough."  
  
"Well it's going to have to be," says Sam. "I'm not going into the final ritual without her. It's because of her that we've managed to get through the last three, and she says this one's going to be the biggest."  
  
"And we're just trusting her, now."  
  
Sam shrugs. "She hasn't lied to me yet."  
  
"No, she just convinced you to let her possess you, probably so she can take over and kill us all."  
  
"She can't kill us," Sam reminds him. "We're the only ones who can stop the rituals."  
  
"And then after, when she decides we're expendable?"  
  
"She doesn't have control over me, Dean. I can overpower her."  
  
It's not that Dean doesn't believe in his little brother, it's that he's sure Ruby's playing some angle. "What if you can't, because she's lied to you?"  
  
"I _can_ ," Sam pleads. "Please, just trust me on this."  
  
"I'm tryin', Sammy," says Dean. "But Ruby..."  
  
"She's saving us. Please, Dean, think about it."  
  
"Fine," says Dean, even though he doesn't need more time to think about it. "Fine, Sam, but this conversation isn't over."  
  
Dean lets himself out of Sam's room, thinks maybe he'll take a shower, go out for a walk, give himself time to regroup so they can finish this discussion in a way that ends up with Ruby _not_ inside his baby brother. Thing is, he has no idea how else he could possible convince him.  
  
  
  


* * *

_  
_   


  
  
  
Dean sends up staying in his room because he doesn't want to risk running into Sam and rehashing things, and doesn't want to have to face Cas after having failed. He would call Bobby, except he doesn't want to pull anyone else into this mess. Of course, that's when the knock comes on his door.  
  
He pulls it open to find Cas looking a bit frantic.  
  
"What's going on," he says, as Cas shoulders past him into the room. Cas' posture is stiff and he doesn't seem to know where to look. Dean shuts the door and spins Cas around to face him. "Cas. What's up."  
  
"Uriel found out," he says. "I didn't—it wasn't—"  
  
Dean clenches a fist. He'd thought they would have a couple more days at least before they had to deal with the Men of Letters. "Shit," he says.  
  
"I'm sorry." Cas looks miserable and scared. "I don't know how he heard."  
  
I believe you." Dean reaches out for his shoulder reassuringly. "I just—I need to know what he said."  
  
"He's giving us three days to take care of the problem on our own," says Cas. "Then—I don't know. But I do not trust Uriel to be understanding, or lenient."  
  
"Okay," says Dean, even though it's not. "Okay."  
  
Cas drops his eyes to the floor. "I am sorry, Dean," he says. "I cannot do much, but...I promise I will not let anything happen to your brother. I will do whatever it takes."  
  
"Slow down," says Dean. "We have three days first to get this worked out. We just have to convince Sammy to stop—"  
  
"And hope that Uriel takes our word that he has?" Cas' words are biting but the ire is not aimed at Dean.  
  
"Unless you have a better plan, yeah," says Dean. Hell, he's not seeing any other options and it's not like recklessness hasn't had its benefits in the past.  
  
"I do not."  
  
"Then we go with this," says Dean.  
  
"To what end, Dean? If Uriel comes alone I have some chance of resisting him, but have no doubt that the rest of the Men of Letters know. I cannot help you dodge them forever."  
  
"We don't need forever," says Dean. "We just have to get through this."  
  
" _This_ doesn't end, Dean," says Cas. "Once we defy Uriel, he will only come after us all the harder. We may outrun him for a while but I cannot avoid the Men of Letters forever. I still need the spell to complete the fifth ritual. And they do not take to betrayal lightly."  
  
Dean hadn't even thought about what Cas would be giving up. He doesn't want that because this isn't Cas' fault, none of it is, and he's faced so much for them already. "I'm not finishing this without you, either" he says.  
  
"Do not worry about me," says Cas. "The rituals are more important."  
  
Now it's Dean's turn to look away. "Dean," Cas mutters, cupping Dean's cheek, "Dean," and he guides their mouths together gently. Dean shudders a gasp into Cas mouth and Cas runs a thumb gently over his cheekbone. Dean wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. _Stay_ , he thinks, and if the way Cas clutches at him says anything, this time he may get what he wants.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Despite Cas' reassurance that Uriel doesn't know where they are, Dean doesn't want to stay in the same place for too long. The grace period he's given Cas to fix this on his own feels like a bit of a formality, and if Uriel figures out they're going to run, Dean has no idea how he'll react. So he figures they should get the hell out of dodge two days ahead of schedule because being prepared never hurt anybody.  
  
"Sammy," he says, knocking on his door. "C'mon, wake up."  
  
Sam opens the door and accepts the coffee Dean shoves at him. "Morning."  
  
"Pack up your stuff. We've gotta move."  
  
"Why?" asks Sam.  
  
Dean barely restrains himself from saying something nasty. "We'll talk in the car. Let's go."  
  
Next up he goes to retrieve Cas, who answers the door with a book in hand. "Good morning, Dean."  
  
Dean smiles in response. "Hey, uh, I think we should move out," he says. "Just in case."  
  
Cas nods. "I will need some time to pack up." Dean looks beyond him to see his bed strewn with texts. "I was researching," says Cas. "The symbols from the ground, I managed to get good pictures. I am trying to translate them."  
  
"Can you do it on the move?"  
  
Cas nods. "I will be ready in half an hour."  
  
"Good." Dean hands him a cup of tea. Cas looks for a second like he's about to reach out for Dean but deflects the movement at the last minute and Dean shoots him another smile before he closes the door. Back into his room he puts his clothes in his duffle, double-checks to make sure he hasn't left anything behind. When he heads out to the car Cas is there waiting and it's stupid, but Dean can't keep himself from smiling at that, just a bit.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Logically, Dean knows he needs Cas around to help talk Sammy out of the Ruby thing but he's still hesitant. It hits a bit too close to home and he doesn't know that he wants to share that much of himself with Cas, yet. Sure, he's on their side, but that's by no means permanent. On the other hand, his willingness to resist the Men of Letters in this means he deserves to be a part of the the discussion. So as they're leaving town, Dean turns the music down and says, "we need to figure out what we're going to do."  
  
Sam looks over at him curiously.  
  
"The Men of Letters know about your little stunt with Ruby," he says. "They're not pleased. Cas says they might come after us."  
  
"I do not know what consequences Uriel has planned," Cas adds from the backseat. "But he has given us— _me_ —three days to get the situation under control."  
  
"So you're saying that you want me to stop," says Sam. "With Ruby."  
  
"Yes," says Cas.  
  
Sam sighs. "Look, I get it. Demons are evil. But you can't deny she's helped us. She's risking a lot to be on our side."  
  
"Which is why she's not doing it out of the goodness of her heart," points out Dean.  
  
"Dean, honestly? If she's going to save our lives I don't care why she's doing it. We need her help. Even if the demons don't want to kill us they might capture us. Is that what you want?"  
  
"No, dammit," says Dean. "Which is why I don't want you sharing your body with a demon."  
  
"Even if you can keep control, it is too risky," adds Cas. "The final ritual is meant to be the biggest, even without the weight of the others behind it. We cannot risk it going wrong."  
  
"If Ruby wanted to mess with us, she'd've done it before now," Sam says. "She makes me stronger, Dean. I can fight for longer than I was able to before, take down more demons. It's not a bad thing."  
  
"So that's it, then," says Dean. "You're going to go through with this."  
  
"Unless you have a better option, yeah," says Sam. "I'm sorry, Dean. I want you to be okay with this but I'm not going to risk any of our lives out there."  
  
Dean sighs and turns away. "So, Cas, what now?"  
  
"I will not tell Uriel what you have decided," he says. "I cannot guarantee that he will not find out. If he contacts us again, I will see if I can get any information on his plans."  
  
Dean looks back, catches Cas' eye in the rearview mirror.  
  
"You sure you're okay with this?"  
  
"I made my choice, Dean," he says. "I intend to honor it."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
As Dean's fumbling with his keycard so he can relax with some after-dinner TV, Cas emerges from the room next door. "We need to talk," he says.  
  
Those four words are some of Dean's least favorite, especially when said in that order, so he's not expecting anything great. He goes into Cas' motel room anyway.  
  
"I've been doing research," Cas announces, like the pile of books on his bed aren't enough for Dean to figure that out on his own. "I could not read the glyphs at the ritual site, but they looked familiar. I found this."  
  
He pushes a book toward Dean. Dean grabs it and reads the words, ' _A fummoning of one of the kings of Hell_ ' written in a scratchy hand, and then a dense block of text below it that's nigh illegible. The opposite page is a mess of symbols that Dean doesn't recognize. "Want to summarize for the class?" he asks.  
  
"The ritual it describes is similar in many ways to what we have encountered," says Cas. "The glyphs it gives match the ones I read at the scene. But—" he looks away from Dean and Dean walks over to hand the book back, close enough that Cas can hardly look anywhere else. Cas avoids taking it and his eyes dart anywhere but Dean's face.  
  
"It describes a human element," he says. "As you and Sam suggested, at the beginning."  
  
"What are you saying, Cas," says Dean.  
  
"I believe the spell Zachariah gave us...it may not be a restrictive spell. It may be the last part the demons need to help Belial, Caacrindaas, Buné, Ipos, and Bael walk the Earth once more."  
  
"What the _fuck_." Dean throws the book back onto the bed. "So you're saying all this time we've been doing the exact opposite of what we were supposed to be doing, because you couldn't tell that you were doing the _wrong goddamn spell_?"  
  
"Dean, it is not that simple—"  
  
"Not simple my ass" yells Dean. "You came and told us to help you and we _did_ because the three of us made a deal. Now I find out that nothing you've said is true, and _dammit, Cas_ , we _trusted_ you." Cas looks utterly broken but Dean can't stop his anger coursing out of him. "It's because of these rituals that Sam's screwing around with some demon, and now you tell there's even worse demons on the way because you couldn't get your head out of your ass sometime before, oh, yesterday."  
  
"Dean—" says Castiel, arm outstretched as if to hold back the torrent of words.  
  
"No," says Dean. "Fucking hell, Cas, you couldn't have figured this out before? Me and Sam already have enough to worry about and now you're telling us we broke the _world_ and there's nothing we can do—"  
  
"Dean. Stop." Cas grabs his arm and swings him around faster than should be possible for a guy of his size, slamming him against the wall. "I have said _nothing_ about giving up. We are going to go to Denver and find Uriel to see what he has to say for himself, and then we are going to finish this."  
  
"How, by making sure to release _all_ of the demon kings?"  
  
"We have to," says Castiel. "The rituals build off one another and if we don't do it now, I have no doubt that someone else will finish the process. This is our best chance to reverse what we have done, so we go do the final ritual and then we kill whatever comes out. Bael, I suspect," Cas tacks onto the end because he can't leave his scholar side behind even when he's facing the prospect of, you know, super powerful demons taking over the world.  
  
Dean shakes his head. "There's no way," he says. "We can't even make it through the rituals without a demon on our side, but you think we're going to kill a demon king? I'm--I'm out. This is a Men of Letters thing, this is not on us," and he tries to shake his arm free from Cas but he can't.  
  
"Don't you get it?" rages Cas. "This whole set up is a _Men of Letters thing_. Zachariah did not _accidentally_ give me the wrong spell. He crafted a spell that was a mix of Enochian and the demons' perverted tongue that I would not be able to understand. Uriel did not _accidentally_ goad you into swearing yourself to finish this job because he hated you. There must be something about you that he has not told us, something that has to do with the way demons possess you, that he foresaw would be useful after the rituals were all completed. If I tell them that I know, which I must, I am in danger and you and Sam are the only ones on my side who can help me stop this. There is no giving up because if any of us do, the world as we know it will no longer exist."  
  
He's staring at Dean desperately and Dean can't bring himself to be mad at Cas because it's not his fault that all this shit happened. "Cas I—" he says but he doesn't know the words that would even come close to making things better in this situation so he just reaches out for Cas' arm and grabs on, hoping that he'll understand the implied jumble of _I'm with you if you're sure you want me and even though we're all a mess right now maybe together we can make this all make sense_. Cas clings to him and Dean holds him back, leans down and presses their lips together, tries to swallow Cas' fears along with his own.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Dean knocks on Sam's door next morning and Sam answers looking like he hardly slept at all.  
  
"Let's go," Dean says to him. "We've got a situation to deal with."  
  
"What," says Sam. "Does it have to do with—"  
  
"No," says Dean. "That spell Zachariah gave to Cas has been freeing the demons we thought we were trapping."  
  
"How—"  
  
"We gotta go deal with it. Pack up, Cas'll catch you up in the car."  
  
Ten minutes later they're on the road to Salt Lake and Cas is filling Sam in on all the minor details. Sam keeps glancing worriedly at Dean like he thinks his brother's going to explode again but Dean couldn't care less about anything except getting them there as fast as possible. They pick up lunch and snacks in a gas station; by mid-afternoon, they're almost in Denver.  
  
"We should find a place to stay for the night," Cas says, when they're a couple of towns out. "I doubt Uriel will wish to meet with us today. I think I would prefer a chance to rest before confronting him, anyway." Dean's never needed to be well-rested to threaten someone, but then again, he doesn't use magic. He takes the next exit.  
  
Dean can't sleep, gets maybe five hours before they're on the road again, sun trying to rise ahead of them. Breakfast is a quick affair in Denver. "We won't need a motel," says Cas tersely. "I doubt we will be here long."  
  
He calls Uriel after they finish eating and sets up a meeting in an old Men of Letters safehouse that is not in use anymore. "This is not a confrontation we want to have in public," he says to Dean afterwards. He doesn't look too happy that they have to have it at all and Dean nudges him briefly on the way out to the Impala.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"No." Castiel frowns at him and pulls his trench coat tighter around him like it can shield him from Dean's stupid questions as well as whatever Uriel will have to throw at them.  
  
Dean claps him on the shoulder, feigning levity for his sake. "Let's get this done."  
  
Cas leans into the contact. "If anything happens to me—"  
  
"It won't," says Dean. "Me and Sam have got your back."  
  
"Thank you," says Cas with a small smile.  
  
They head to the meeting spot Uriel specified and Castiel gives the black Mercedes-Benz sitting outside a look of displeasure. "It would appear Uriel has beat us here," he says. Then, "let me do all the talking."  
  
Dean reaches into the trunk and grabs a knife and a couple of his favorite guns, and Sam follows suit. "You armed?" Dean asks Cas. Cas nods, showing Dean the sword he keeps concealed under his trench coat.  
  
"Good," says Dean. "Showtime."  
  
They don't bother knocking: Cas has the key, and he lets them in. They find Uriel standing in the foyer gazing at the works of art the line that halls.  
  
"Younger brother," he greets Castiel warmly, holding out a hand. "All is in hand?" He gives Sam a long look. "I trust that despite the...difficulties encountered, the rituals have been going well for you."  
  
"We encountered some complications," says Cas stiffly.  
  
Uriel's brow wrinkles. "Surely these two do not resist...?"  
  
"They have upheld their end of the bargain," says Castiel. "Our problems stem from you."  
  
"I'm sure you do not mean that," says Uriel, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.  
  
"I do." Cas' stare could cut ice, Dean's sure of it. "Imagine my surprise when, after the ritual, we observed the blood of the demons that had been killed filling a set of glyphs carved into the ground."  
  
"Demons are skilled in their own branch of magic, but I assure you, their powers could not overcome ours."  
  
"No," says Castiel, "but neither are the two separate." He pulls out the spell he's been reading and hands it to Uriel. "I would like the translation of this, please."  
  
Uriel barely glances at it. "It is a reversal of the demon ritual. Surely Zachariah told you that when he gave it to you."  
  
"He did," says Castiel. "So I find it...interesting that I do not find that meaning in its words."  
  
"It was handcrafted by Zachariah and myself, among others, to respond more precisely to the ritual," says Uriel. "You do not need to understand it to perform it."  
  
"No," says Cas. "I do not, which is good for the both of us. But I also need not understand it to realize that it shares many characteristics with this." He holds up a photocopy of the page he'd shown Dean the other night, the one that tipped the Men of Letters' hand.  
  
"Where did you come across that?" asks Uriel, taking it from him. He examines the page. "Of course the two spells have something in common. That is where we adapted and refined our spell."  
  
Castiel pulls out his blade. "The spell you gave me does not reverse the effects of the ritual," he says, advancing on Uriel.  
  
"Put your blade away, brother," says Uriel. "This is not a conflict to be solved with swords. It is one to be solved with minds. You may want to send your—" here he glances at Sam and Dean— " _companions_ away so we may have this talk in private."  
  
"I think not," says Castiel. Dean draws his gun and levels it at Uriel's head.  
  
"Very well," says Uriel. "I see you are not to be dissuaded. Then listen here, brother, and your... _hunters_ may listen as well. You think demons plague mankind, but most of the evils you see—mass persecutions; nations fighting senseless wars; CEOs buying private jets while millions starve—are human problems. They are a symptom of the original sin and they cannot be fought like demons can. There is no way to truly purify the human race but to start over, and for that to happen, first must come the great purge. Once we are overrun, then can we be saved."  
  
"You're sick," says Sam, unable to contain himself.  
  
Uriel gives him a withering glance. "Of course you would not understand it, hunter, but know this: there will soon be a world with no need for your kind, for all evils shall be gone forthwith."  
  
"No," says Castiel. "You cannot bring on Revelation on your own, Uriel, no matter how much you try. The fate of the human race is up to God alone; your mockery of his plan will earn you no points with Him."  
  
"I do not work against Him, Castiel, I work for Him. I will cleanse the Earth in His honor and prepare it for His greatness, and you, brother, can help me."  
  
"I will not," says Castiel. "What you are doing will result in the premature death of millions of innocents."  
  
"And they will be rewarded with a Paradise Everlasting. Do you not see?"  
  
"I see a man who has gotten too sure of himself and fallen off the right path," says Castiel. "Our highest good was to be obedience, Uriel, or have you forgotten that too?"  
  
"I do obey," says Uriel with a peaceful smile. "You do not, and so you will be punished."  
  
Dean flips the safety off. Castiel raises a hand and says something in Enochian.  
  
"You forget your place, brother," says Uriel.  
  
"I remember my place and it guides me," says Castiel. "You will give us the spell for the next ritual and let us go now."  
  
Uriel grits his teeth and nods at the table. "Take it and get out of my sight. You know that your spell cannot hold me for long."  
  
"It will hold for long enough," says Castiel, grabbing the slip of paper. "I hope you were prepared for a night out."  
  
They back out of the room that Uriel stands in, then rush out of the house. "My spell should last for a few more hours, if we are lucky," says Cas. "I have no idea how deep this conspiracy goes, but we do not have time to investigate it. The Council will deal with Uriel if they are not on his side; if they are, then we will know soon enough. But the best course of action now is to kill the demons we can."  
  
"Then let's go," says Dean, and they climb back into the Impala once more.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They can't let the demons know what they're planning for the next ritual, so the next few weeks are spent traversing the West in search of normal hunts rather than demon kings. Dean considers visiting Bobby but he figures that should wait. Cas has told him time and again that the Men of Letters have no choice but to let them finish the rituals, but Dean doesn't want to risk bringing trouble to Bobby's door. They stay in Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, avoiding the population centers where Cas tells them Men of Letters live.  
  
The last ritual takes place in rural Montana, and they descend out of rugged mountains into a landscape of green and hills that looks too peaceful to be the site of any demon summoning. Cas is sure this is the location, though, so they find a motel (cowboy themed, to Dean's delight) and set up there.  
  
There's not much to do in preparation: Cas has memorized the spell, and beyond that it's going to be mostly fighting. They've looked to see if there are any special techniques to help them take out a king of Hell (there aren't, that they've found) and after that they hang around in the same room talking in fits and spurts and generally getting in each others' way until Sam tells them he's going out to get some food because they need to be well-fed.  
  
Cas watches him walk out the door with the keys. "Do you think that's wise?" he mutters to Dean.  
  
Dean shrugs. Ruby or no, they're screwed anyway. Sam already agreed not to tell her anything. "We'll be fine," he says, which is not really much of an answer, or much of a truth.  
  
"Of course." Castiel stands close behind him, the anchor that Dean is not, and believes so much in him that Dean almost believes in himself.  
  
Sam returns half an hour later with sandwiches and free from demon influence, for which Dean is eternally grateful. They're all kept busy by the food but not for long, and soon enough a tension settles over the room again. Dean turns on the TV and mindlessly flips through the channels until Cas tells him to pick something or turn it off, so he clicks it off again and chucks the remote over on the desk. Sam gets up to take a shower and realizes that his bag's still out in the car. "I'm just gonna use the other room," he says to Dean, who grunts an acknowledgment over the top of a book he's stolen from Cas' bag.  
  
"What are you reading?" Cas asks, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. It's something terribly dull about the theory of spellwork that Dean's not interested in at all; he's just reading it to keep from thinking about anything else.  
  
"Dean," says Cas, taking it away from him. "Dean, are you here with me?"  
  
"Hm?" says Dean looking up, but that's as far as he gets because Cas is angling in for a kiss, which Dean is all in favor of. He pulls Cas fully onto the bed and pushes the trench coat off his shoulders because it's in the way and pretty much the antithesis of what Dean wants to happen right now. Castiel keeps going with that line of thought and peels Dean's flannel off, then the shirt under it.  
  
"Slow down," says Dean, as Cas mouths along his neck.  
  
"This could be the last night we are alive, Dean," says Castiel, completely serious.  
  
Dean's trying to figure out if that was a line Cas just pulled, or just the way he talks. He's thinking it might be the latter. "Uh, okay," he stutters. "Yeah. It could."  
  
Before things get too heated, Dean grabs his phone and texts Sam _stay in that room tonight k?_.  
  
 _Gross, Dean_ , Sam replies but it's better than the alternative (in which no texts were sent) and besides, Dean doesn't care what his brother thinks. Cas is hovering next to him, still wearing a truly inappropriate amount of clothing, and Dean's going to have to fix that.  
  
He starts with Castiel's shirt, unbuttoning it deftly until Castiel lets it fall to the ground behind him, then removes the white tee underneath. Cas moves in to kiss him and works open the button of Dean's pants, and Dean's too happy to let him peel off the confining denim. They get confused in a tangle of legs when Castiel presses himself against Dean but he gets his jeans off eventually, kicks them onto the floor to lie forgotten. Cas is all greedy hands and possessive kisses and Dean can feel how hard he is through his slacks with their bodies pressed flush like this, so he applies himself to removing Castiel's belt. Cas tugs his pants off without ever removing his mouth from Dean's, which shows great skill in multitasking that Dean approves of.  
  
After that it doesn't make much sense for them to have any layers on at all so Dean reaches for the waistline of Cas' boxers and Cas shifts his hips obligingly so Dean can slide them off. Dean has to pause for a moment to stare at Cas, who looks glorious like this.  
  
"Dean," says Cas, "stop stalling," and okay that's fair. Dean strips himself out of his boxers with one hand while licking the other because he can't help but stroke himself at the sight in front of him. Cas looks like he would be satisfied to just watch the show all night but that's not really what Dean wants. Some other time, maybe.  
  
"C'mere," he says, pulling Cas toward him. Cas ends up half on his lap and looking at Dean like he's unsure where to put his hands first. Dean slides against him and wraps his hand around both of their cocks, jacking them both off. "Good?" he asks and Cas just moans and thrusts up against him, the added friction making Dean's breath catch in his throat.  
  
Cas drops his hand to wrap around Dean's and drags his teeth down Dean's shoulder in a way that's going to leave a mark tomorrow. "Yeah, _fuck_ , c'mon," says Dean and Cas' thrusts become more erratic until he comes, streaking their chests and tipping Dean over the brink too.  
  
Dean strokes them both through the aftershock and then Cas takes his hand and licks it clean. "Fuck," says Dean, committing to memory the was Cas' tongue looks as it darts around his fingers. He presses a light kiss to the side of Cas' mouth afterward and, before he can get further distracted, grabs a washcloth and cleans them up the rest of the way. Then Cas is pulling him back into bed with light kisses and touches. Dean settles in behind him, tangling up their legs, eliminating all the space in between them.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean can't help how cheerful he is the next morning even though he knows Sam's gonna glare at him because hey, he just got _laid_ and it was fucking awesome.  
  
"Can you tone it down?" Sam asks over breakfast and Dean just smirks and winks at Cas, who turns pink. "Oh my god," Sam says melodramatically. "At least this is almost over."  
  
"Who says?" asks Dean cockily.  
  
"The rituals," Sam clarifies. "Then I can leave you to....I don't even want to think about it. And I won't have to. Because I won't be there."  
  
"Don't worry, Sammy, we'll keep you safe from the sordid details," says Dean.  
  
"Can we maybe just focus on the ritual?" asks Sam. "That's, you know, tonight?"  
  
"Sam is right," says Castiel and now that Dean's gone and slept with him he knows there's no way he's winning any argument against the man. They spend the rest of breakfast discussing strategy and the best ways for them to escape that don't involve death.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean tries to ignore the pit of nerves in his stomach by telling himself that it doesn't mean anything that they're about to raise one of the most powerful demons known to mankind, but it doesn't work very well. Everyone in the room is tense and even when Cas drags him outside and promises with his hands and his lips that nothing bad is going to happen, Dean doesn't believe it. The entire ride there is tense and if it weren't for Cas' customary muttering of Enochian from the back seat, Dean thinks he would give up on functioning.  
  
Since they don't want the demons to know that they've wised up to the cause, and on the off-chance the Uriel hasn't told any of them, they start the night like normal: Cas uses their blood to bind the earth, Sam does his possession thing with Ruby, and Dean sits there staring at both of them and realizing how truly nuts this plan is.  
  
He thinks— _they_ think—they'll still be in the safe zone because demon sacrifice is apparently a part of the ritual and the demons can't be sacrificed if they kill Sam and Dean. And Cas, of course, has to be the one to do the spell. Dean's not sure they're not going to just swoop and in and kill him after that, though Cas has explained at least five times how he's protected himself against that possibility.  
  
"Don't die," he says, threading his fingers through Cas' for a brief second before he grabs his knife.  
  
"Nor you," says Cas.  
  
Then the demons rush at them. Dean isn't scared because he knows their blood is as necessary to this ritual as his, so he stands his ground and gives them what they want, one at a time and without letting the others fluster him. Sam/Ruby is fighting up a storm on the other side of him. Dean swears that he can feel the very earth heave as Cas chants the spell but he grits his teeth and keeps going because no matter what comes up they can handle it, somehow, between the three of them.  
  
The battle feels shorter than the others, but only because Dean knows what's coming after: when he drops his arm to his side and surveys the dead demons around them, he only feels a growing sense of dread.  
  
"I know what your'e doing, you know," says Sam from behind him and Dean spins around because that's not his brother speaking to him.  
  
"Ruby?" he says.  
  
Ruby smirks. "Don't worry, Sam's still in here. He's just letting me control the mouth right now. But you won't kill Bael. You don't have a chance."  
  
"So you're coming along to die with us? Almost makes it worth it."  
  
Ruby laughs. "No, Dean. You're not going to die. _He_ might—" she nods at Cas— "but maybe they'll save him for you if you ask nicely. You and Sam are going to be the link between Hell and Earth. See, the five that you raised? They're going to take everything over. And you're going to help."  
  
"Get out of him, you bitch," says Dean.  
  
Ruby just shakes Sam's head. "I don't think so. Right now the two of us are protecting each other. No one else can possess him until both he and I feel like letting this go. I keep him safe from Bael, he gives me a bargaining chip."  
  
Dean doesn't really like that plan. "So what, you're gonna ride him forever, then? Or just wait until you can take over? Because as soon as we get out of here I will exorcise your ass myself if I have to."  
  
"I won't be able to take over, now that Sam's trained to share with me," Ruby says. "I ride him for as long as we both agree. He can kick me out without your help. He could do it right now if he wanted to. But he's not going to because he understands that this is good for both of us. Don't you, Sammy." And she retreats.  
  
"Yeah," rasps Sam. "Look, Dean, it's not ideal but for now..."  
  
"For this fight," says Dean. "I'm not hunting with a demon for a brother.  
  
Sam nods. "Understood."  
  
"If you are done, I think we should prepare," says Cas, from where he's bending down looking at the glyphs again. There's a large snap from the fire as the last few fill in and an answering crack from the earth as the blood begins to swirl.  
  
"Shit," says Dean. "Cas, are we safe here?"  
  
Cas gives him the biggest disparaging look he's ever seen.  
  
"I mean from the—" Dean gestures at the ground as it gives another resounding _crack_.  
  
"Yes," says Cas. "The fire is likely the portal."  
  
"Okay," says Dean. "So now...?"  
  
"We wait." Cas doesn't look like he's winded at all but Dean knows he's got to be tired from the spells. Sam doesn't look tired either but that's because he's bolstered by fucking _Ruby_. But Dean's already breathing hard and he has a small scratch in his arm from the blade of one of the demons that won't stop itching.  
  
"Hey, Ruby," says Dean because he's never had a good instinct for self-preservation. "I thought you hated this guy."  
  
"She wants to witness the rising of Bael," Sam says. The ground shakes beneath them, like his words are some sort of trigger.  
  
Next to Dean, Cas lets out a breath through clenched teeth. "You okay?" Dean asks him.  
  
Cas nods. "This will take...more power than I had imagined to restrain him."  
  
"But you can do it, right?"  
  
"I believe so," says Cas. "I have been getting stronger with the rituals. Regardless, I must try."  
  
"And if you don't—if you can't—" Dean doesn't want to finish the thought, but he has to know.  
  
"Then you will have to finish it on your own," says Cas.  
  
There's nothing Dean can say about that so he goes back to staring at the ground in front of him, at the symbols etched in beneath his feet, and wonders how the hell things got so badly messed up.  
  
The fire lets out another loud snap and shoots a long tongue of flame into the night. A puff of sulfur spreads through the already pungent air.  
  
"I don't know that I can hold him back for long," says Cas into Dean's ear.  
  
"Then let it go," says Dean. "We need your energy here, with us. Fighting him."  
  
Cas whispers a few words in Enochian right as the fire explodes outward. Dean ducks his head to avoid the flaming debris and pulls Cas down with him; he sees Sam/Ruby do the same on the other side. There's a chilling howl that sounds through the night and when Dean looks up Bael is standing in front of them in a gaunt body with white-blonde hair and piercing white eyes.  
  
Dean reaches for his gun.  
  
"You cannot stop me," says Bael holding up his hand. Dean finds himself unable to move, "and the fact that you still try says much of your bravery, not to mention your stupidity. Dean Winchester, look at yourself. This is not who you're meant to be."  
  
"I think I'm doing pretty well for myself, actually," says Dean.  
  
"You do not have to sacrifice anything to join me," says Bael sweetly. "We can share your body, and do great things together. All I need is for you to take off that anti-possession charm you're wearing and you and I can rule the world. Look at your brother. He knows the way things are going, even if he's chosen to work with Ruby rather than with a demon of true power."  
  
"I think I'll take my chances as a hunter."  
  
"Well," says Bael. "Then we shall have some work to do with you." Bael shifts a hand and Dean lands hard on the ground. He tries to move his arm, experimentally, and is relieved to find it mobile once more.  
  
"And you," says Bael, turning to Castiel. "Your magic has been most useful to us. We owe you a debt of gratitude. Come with us and you shall learn magics you never believed were in your reach."  
  
"I do not not wish to know the sacrilege have made of the arts," says Castiel, pulling out his sword.  
  
Bael's laugh is low and terrible. " _Humans_ ," he snarls. "So brave, though you are so weak. You lack foresight. It does not matter whether you surrender now or surrender ten years from now, for you will surrender. Your reign is done.  
  
"It is not," says Castiel. "We will send you back, you and your brethren, and we will ensure that you cannot come forth again."  
  
"You will die long before you succeed in that goal," says Bael, and with a flick of his wrist he sends Castiel flying back out of the circle. Dean hears him land in a bush.  
  
"Don't even think about it, Dean," says Bael, eyeing Dean's hand creeping toward his gun. "You have no backup now. Ruby would not harm me, or I will kill her."  
  
At that moment Cas stumbles back into the circle, a spell on his lips. Dean looks back and sees blood running down the side of Cas' face, desperation in his eyes as he shapes the last few syllables.  
  
Bael just smiles. "Your weak magic cannot destroy me, Castiel."  
  
"No, but someone else can," he says, as Dean raises his gun.  
  
Bael's eyes widen and flick to Ruby. "Stop him," he commands but Sam holds his ground against her while Dean fires one, two quick shots in between Bael's eyes. With a scream Bael pulls out a knife and throws it straight at Sam, leaving his body to crumple to the ground.  
  
"No," shouts Dean running toward Sam as Bael begins to waver. Behind him Cas shouts something that cuts the air with its harshness as he runs his sword through the Bael, and the demon goes screaming back to hell. "Sam," says Dean, bending over his brother.  
  
"Take out the knife, dumbass," snaps Ruby. "It's poison."  
  
Dean pulls it out and pulls off his flannel to staunch the bleeding. "Can you walk?" he says.  
  
"Sam can't," says Ruby. "I can."  
  
"Why the hell are you still here," Dean demands.  
  
"Because you aren't supposed to die, dipshit," says Ruby. "We can still do this."  
  
"Let's go," grunts Dean, helping Ruby stand up. He'll deal with her later, once they've gotten Sam taken care of. "Cas?"  
  
"I am here," says Cas, staggering up to him. "I can help, just let me rest..."  
  
"Never mind that, just get in the car," he says. "Sam, in the backseat with him. Help him keep pressure on that, Cas." He takes the drive back faster than he ought, apologizing to Baby as he whips over the bumpy road and skids through stop signs. By the time he gets back to the motel Cas has dozed off against the window and Ruby (or so Dean assumes) is faithfully keeping pressure on the wound. Sam doesn't look much worse which is probably a good thing, but then again, who knows whether he'll die from the poison the second Ruby leaves.  
  
He herds Sam into their room, leaving Cas to blink the sleep out of his eyes and follow. "You good?" Dean throws back over his shoulder.  
  
"Yes," says Cas, though he looks about to drop. "Do you require my assistance?"  
  
Dean shrugs and motions Sam onto the bed as he grabs the med kit. They're definitely going to need stitches on this thing, but he doesn't know what to do about the poison. First things first, though: he cleans the wound, which has started to turn an ugly yellow, and threads the needle. He locks eyes with Sam, who nods back at him, and then starts the stitches. Sam's breaths puff out a harsh punctuation to each pull of the needle until Dean finishes them off. Even closed up, the wound doesn't look any less deadly.  
  
"You need to get the poison out of his system," says Ruby.  
  
"Thanks for that," Dean snaps. "I can't do that."  
  
"I can," says Castiel. "I know a few rudimentary healing spells." He rolls up his sleeves and kneels down next to Dean. "I may need your help with this. I don't know that I have enough power left."  
  
"What do you need?" asks Dean.  
  
"Your soul," says Castiel. "I need its power."  
  
Dean stares at him. "What, like a deal?"  
  
"No," says Castiel. "You don't have to give it to me. I just need—it's a simple spell. It transfers some of your energy into me."  
  
"And after...?"  
  
"It may leave a scar," says Castiel simply. Dean doesn't know what to say.  
  
"Dean for god's sake," says Ruby.  
  
Dean glances at Sam, at the ugly wound, at the bloody shirt on the floor. "Yes," he says.  
  
Castiel places a hand on his shoulder. "Shut your eyes." He begins a low chant. It's fucking creepy: whereas normally Dean can feel Cas' spells affect the air, this time he can feel the spell shifting inside of his body. It feels like he's burning up and freezing to death at the same time and he finds it hard to stay still so Cas grips him even harder. His words flow in a crescendo and Dean feels a spike of lightning run through him, channeled through Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it recedes leaving him with a feeling of warm peace. He thinks he can see the room glowing through his eyelids but he doesn't dare open them until Castiel removes his hand and says, "it is done."  
  
Dean drags his eyelids open, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over him, as Castiel holds his hands over Sam and starts another chant. Dean can feel himself swaying as he fights to stay awake. He has to make sure Sam's okay. This time there's no light or circumstance to show that Cas has finished his spell but Sam's breathing seems to ease, and the yellow that's been spreading outward from the point he was stabbed retreats.  
  
"He should be okay now," says Castiel. "He just needs rest."  
  
Dean nods. "Ruby," he mutters.  
  
"Of course."  
  
As soon as she hears Cas beginning the exorcism, Ruby spits out, "I saved your brother for you, Dean. Let's talk this over."  
  
"No," says Dean as Castiel falters. "Let him go, Ruby."  
  
"You can't escape from this," she says. "We're still out there, and this is what you were meant to do, Dean. If the three of you work with us you'll have more power—" but she doesn't finish her sentence because at the last words of the exorcism she's ripped out of Sam's body and sent swirling through the air and back to hell.  
  
"Sam. Sammy. Are you okay?" asks Dean.  
  
Sam cracks an eye open. "Tired," he says. "Empty."  
  
"Yeah, that's what you get when you're not possessed," he says.  
  
"Sleep," says Sam, closing his eyes again, his breaths deepening. Dean goes to the end of the bed and pulls off his shoes, then rolls Sam under the covers as well as he can with the little strength he has left.  
  
"You need to sleep as well," says Castiel from behind him. "Your energy will be much depleted now, I'm afraid."  
  
Dean can feel Castiel's truth in his movements. "You too," he says. "C'mon." He walks over to his duffel and pulls out a clean tee, swapping it out for his dirty one, and then pulls off his boots and jeans. Castiel starts for the door.  
  
"Stay here tonight," says Dean.  
  
"Are you sure?" Castiel's voice is hushed like he thinks they'll wake Sam.  
  
"Yeah." Dean crosses to Cas and pulls him toward the desk, pushing his trench coat off his shoulders and draping it over the desk chair. He presses a light kiss to Castiel's lips. "Stay."  
  
"Yes," says Castiel, pulling closer to Dean for a second before he steps back.  
  
Cas pulls off Dean's shirt and pushes him down on the bed, removes his boots and jeans as well. Dean slumps back against the pillows and watches Cas undress. He thinks he might never tire of watching that, wonders if he'll get another chance to, or if this is it for them. He means to ask something to that effect, but by the time Cas makes it to bed Dean's feeling too lethargic to speak. He remembers Cas draping an arm over his waist and pulling in to Dean's chest and then nothing.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dean wakes the next morning with the general feel of _content_ huddled against him but also a general after-hunt soreness that intensifies into a shooting pain when he stretches his arm. He curses reflexively and Cas mutters something in his sleep, looking so peaceful that Dean hates to disturb him. So he stays in bed and dozes on and off until he feels Castiel stir next to him.  
  
"Hey," he says.  
  
Castiel blinks up at him, then frowns, rolls over, and buries his face in a pillow. Dean finds this unspeakably hilarious for some reason and has to get out of the bed when Castiel swats him for laughing. He splashes some water on his face to make sure he's fully awake, and when he straightens up he notices a wicked-looking scar on his shoulder. That explains the pain, then. He fits his hand over it—it's almost the exact same size—and winces when it comes into contact with the still-red skin. He wonders if it's going to scar permanently, or if Cas knows of some way to remove it.  
  
A glance back into the room confirms that Cas is not awake to answer that question, so Dean decides to head out for breakfast. If he knows Sam, the kid's gonna be starving when he wakes up.  
  
By the time he returns Castiel has pulled himself marginally more upright and is sitting on the edge of the bed in one of Dean's t-shirts. "My clothes are in my room," he says guiltily.  
  
Dean busies himself with putting the food down while wishing Sam wasn't in the other bed. Without looking behind him, he snags Cas' key, promising to be right back. It's a bit disappointing when Castiel has found his way into his own clothes again, but Sam wakes up soon after and Dean's kind of glad he wasn't involved in anything incriminating.  
  
"Morning, Sammy," he says cheerily.  
  
Sam squints at him, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Do you have food."  
  
"Sasquatch," Dean teases, but he passes around breakfast and Sam manages to sit up without tearing his stitches out, and they're all in a good mood as they eat.  
  
Afterward it's time to face reality again so as Dean cleans up, Sam goes to grab a shower and Cas relocates the rest of his stuff into their room. "We can't stay here," he says. "The Men of Letters must already know what we did."  
  
Dean nods. "Then we'll move on."  
  
They hang around, avoding the things that have to be said until Sam gets out of the shower. After a short discussion and a long, lecturing phone call it's decided that they'll head up to Bobby's cabin in Whitefish.  
  
"We need to make a new plan," says Cas. "And Sam needs to recover. I'm not sure how much time we'll have—"  
  
"We'll have enough," says Dean. If he's feeling a little bit optimistic because he's alive the day after Bael was supposed to start destroying the world, he thinks he's okay with it.  
  
"Will we?" says Castiel. "You heard Ruby. They'll be after us again. And this time, I have a feeling the Men of Letters will not be stepping in to help."  
  
"Yeah, well, their help wasn't worth much anyway," says Dean. "We got you, and your books, and Bobby's books, and us. That's been enough in the past."  
  
"I suppose." Castiel looks doubtful.  
  
"Dean's right," says Sam. "We know a lot more now than we did at the beginning. It's demons. We can deal with demons."  
  
"They will be more difficult to defeat than Bael," says Castiel. "The longer they are on Earth, the more powerful they will become."  
  
"Then let's go." Dean slings his duffel over his shoulder and grabs Sam's bag. Castiel nods, and Sam smiles weakly at the both of them.  
  
"Do you think the demons will be able to cast spells like you can?" Sam asks Cas as they climb into the car. Dean groans at his brother's perpetual nerdiness.  
  
Dean pulls onto the highway and they drive to the beat of Zep and the low drone of Castiel's voice. Dean doesn't catch everything he says because he already knows the general gist: they're in danger, they will have to be more careful, prepare themselves for a new sort of war. He can almost feel the earth thrumming beneath the wheels, preparing a new host of troubles for them to fight through. But as it always has, the road holds them up as they race on toward the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> I had an awesome support network that got me through the writing process: thanks to [alphamally](http://alphamallyandstilessexuality.tumblr.com) for whipping my summary into shape, answering random word choice questions, and waiting to watch S.H.I.E.L.D. with me; to [geckoholic](http://geckoholic.livejournal.com) for being an awesome writing buddy and encouraging me at all steps in the process; and to [alcetis](http://alcetis.livejournal.com), for letting me ruin all her best ideas and listening to me cry about my insecurities every day. This fic would not exist without any of you. ♥


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